Darkness Falls
by perfectsmuttyvampire
Summary: It is 1945, and the Allies are marching towards Bergen-Belsen Concentration Camp in Germany. Isabella Cohen is fighting for her life, but will she live to see the liberation?
1. Chapter 1

_**TITLE: Darkness Falls**_

_**SUMMARY: It is January 1945, and the snow is falling over Bergen-Belsen concentration camp in Germany. Bella Cohen is fighting to survive in the cold, with next to no food, savage beatings, and a work schedule designed specifically to kill. The Nazi have taken everything from her, but this is about her survival, and her faith. She'll fight to the day of liberation, or the day she dies…**_

_**WARNING: This is set during the Holocaust. This is dark, violent, extreme, frightening and at times will deal, in depth, with the extremes of the darkest period in human history.**_

_**PAIRING: Eventually, this will be Bella/Emmett**_

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_**SORRY FOR THE HUGE AUTHOR'S NOTE, BUT IF YOU COULD TAKE THE TIME TO READ IT, IT'D BE A GREAT HELP.**_

_**A/N: OK, this is the biggest project I have ever taken on. This means that reviews are going to be the only thing that decide the fate of this story, and as such, they are important! I am taking this on as more of a personal favour for someone than anything else. I was asked to try it out. I am as such trying it out, but please, please try and remember that I am actually only seventeen years old. I am not Jewish, and I am going to do my absolute best to tackle this, and I understand that I must handle this with the utmost respect and sensitivity. I also understand that people may not want to read this, due to the content.**_

_**I understand fully that on writing this story, that I am taking on a history that was written in the blood of nine million people - six million of whom were Jews. I am going to try my hardest to respect that culture, the history, and the lives of the people in the camps, both those who survived, and those who did not.**_

_**I need to be told immediately if I am not handling this right. Honestly, the SECOND I am even slightly insensitive, or not respecting the scope and tragedy of the Holocaust, tell me right away. I'm going to do my best, and I really hope you'll back me on this one. You guys mean an incredible amount to me, and it's with your support that I will try and do this.**_

_**Please understand that I have taken historical licence only so far that I have used fictional characters in a real life situation. Everything else I have kept the same, out of respect for history.**_

_**THANK YOU**_

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She hugged the rags she had left to her body. It was so cold. The night was cloudy, and she knew it would snow again before morning. So cold. That was what you tended to think about in the camps, she thought, bitterly. I am cold, therefore, how do I get warm? I am hungry, therefore, when do I next get fed? Who won't survive this winter, and can I get close enough to get some extra rags when they wake up dead? Who'll not be able to eat, and can I get their share? Those are the questions, she decided. Those are the questions one must ask to survive. There are questions you don't ask, naturally. Who is dead, that I knew? Who might be dead? What became of so-an-so from school, work, home, after-school clubs? Those are the questions you don't ask, because then you lose your mind. And the important thing in these hell holes is your sanity.

She has seen too many people die, of the cold, of hunger, of the typhus. You can smell the death. Death has a very distinct smell, and Bergen-Belsen reeks of it. The typhus is raging, and every day, more people die. She is an old woman in a young girls body.

She is thin, very thin. She has been systematically starved for two long years. This Hanukkah will be her third in the camp. She is determined that she will walk out of the gates a free woman, when the liberation comes. She speaks German, she hears the Nazi guards talking. They are worried. The Allies are getting closer. They fear the war is lost. She will believe it when an army of Allies walk through the gates, and announce that they are all free. She will believe it when she sees her home again.

In the mean time, she will survive. She will fight for her survival, because they have taken her dignity, her pain, her emotions, her conscience. She will keep her pride, and her faith, and she will use them to survive. Her faith is still important to her. She scratched the star of David into the wall with her nails, and she prays. She knows that if the guards catch her, she'll die, but she doesn't care. She's fighting back, however small that fight may be. Sometimes the people in the block pray with her. She has some importance. Her defiance is keeping her respected in the camp. All the prisoners know her name, from the moment they arrive. Murmurs of Isabella Cohen reach even the guards, who choose to goad her, trying to make her lash out at them, for sheer amusement. She merely stares them down. Her pride will kill her or save her, and she does not care which it does. Either way, she gets out of hell.

It is dark, and she shouldn't be out. She is coming back from a barrack block, where a woman is sick. She has said a prayer, and ahs gone on her way. She knows that the woman will be dead tomorrow morning. Or this morning. She doesn't know what time it is. She doesn't care. Mealtimes are the definitive point, and whether or not you get a meal. Work, and maybe eat, if you are lucky. And never stop. If you fall at work, you sign your own death warrant.

She is only seventeen, and April 15th, 1945 will be her birthday. Well, it will be if she can pinpoint when April 15th is. She'd like to. Eighteen is such an important number.

She sneaks back into block in time to avoid the patrols. She curls up on her pallet, and tries to get some sleep. Within seconds, there is a body pressed against hers. She doesn't know who it is, and she doesn't care. Frankly, it is warmth, and she'll take it.

Isabella Cohen doesn't want anything but survival, and she'll take it in any form.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Story in Bella's POV, unless otherwise clearly stated**_

It's so cold. I have no shoes now. I used to have shoes. I outgrew them, and it was better without them. Sort of. I used to have a proper dress, of sorts, but now it's rags. It is worn thin, and is almost see through on my shoulders and hips, where my bones have rubbed the cloth. I am very thin now. I don't remember the taste of food. I don't remember the smell of baking bread. All I smell now is death and disease and the smell of humans who are rotting whilst they're still alive. At least it's winter. At least we cannot smell the corpses. You learn very quickly to be very thankful for small mercies. Being fed is a cause for a smile, someone getting better after being hurt is cause for laughter. When there is nothing to be thankful for, you are thankful for the normal. Every new day is a seed of hope. I am still alive, so I can still fight. Yes.

Dreams are hard to find here. Hope is harder. Life is almost impossible. But I have done two years here. I am going to stay on my feet until the end of the war. When the Allies march through that gate, I will be right there and I will lead the cheering. Be they Russian, America, Canadian, British, French, I don't care. Hope now is not God. Hope is in the form of men with guns. Not so different from those who guard us, but in principle, they are as day and night. I pray every night to a God who I doubt hears us now. There are millions of His people crying out, and he seems to listen to none of us. Why must it be the Jews who suffer? Why must my people die around me, and why does He do nothing to stop it? Where is God, in this Hell? God is not here, and Satan walks here, his hand reaching out and striking us down at will. Every day I pray for our salvation, and I pray that He can hear me. I pray that in the multitude of tears, my God can hear my voice, and that He heeds the prayers of not just me, but of every person who suffers at the hands of the Nazi regime. That He hears us, and saves us. We have nothing left in this place, this Hell, and if we lose our faith, we lose our lives.

Time is meaningless, dragging by. It is light, it is dark. We eat, we do not eat. It rains, it doesn't rain. It snows, it doesn't snow. It is sunny, it is not sunny. The days mean nothing. I am not sure of the date. I know it is roughly January, maybe even as late as mid February. All I know is that the snow has not yet melted here, it still snows, covering everything with virgin white. Why do even the most evil of places look so wonderful after snowfall? Why does death seem so inconceivable under a blanket of unbroken snow? Then a shot rings out, a person will fall, and the fire burns again. The snow is walked on, muddied, ruined. Pure is dead, innocent is lost. Snowfall never lasts. And I am reminded, once again, why hope is dying day by day.

I was going to go to university. I was going to study Literature. I had my future all planned out. I would go to university, qualify as a teacher. I would teach in primary school. I would find a man, settle down, marry, and have some children. I would stop my career, of course, become a wife and mother. I would be very happy. That was how it would have been.

It is still dark when they wake us for roll call. We leave the dead in our barracks. Those still alive go and stand in rows of five for hours, in the freezing wind. People have frozen to the spot and died during winter roll calls. In the summer, they die of dehydration and the heat. If you die during roll call, you are still counted. Then the numbers of the dead are counted, and the total is compared with the number of people who were still alive during yesterday night's roll call. If the numbers don't match, we are counted again. Two or three, sometimes even four times, we are counted. If, after multiple counts, the numbers still don't tally, there are liberal beatings handed out. Only the new ones try and hide during roll call. You soon learn it is much easier and less painful to stand and be counted. That way, you avoid the beating, avoid the unnecessary hassle. If you don't have to do, you don't do it. Anything to conserve a little strength. That's what is all about. Every day of survival is one more act of defiance. Every time I endure the taunts and leers of SS guards, I feel like I am winning a little. Every time I say my prayers, I'm slapping back. Every time I have one more person join me in saying our prayers, it's a little victory. Petty, yes, but still a victory. One more way to fight back. A little extra bread, a little extra something to give to the sick, that's fighting. And I will keep fighting.

It is bitterly cold. Breath freezes before it even leaves your mouth. Spit is frozen before it hit's the ground. Make it quick using the latrines, or you're in serious trouble. At least that doesn't smell now. It freezes solid in the winter, poisons us in summer. Spring will come soon, that's one thing. When it get intensely cold like this, when everything is deadly still, it mean there isn't long to go. It's easiest in spring. Cool enough to survive, warm enough to function properly. You can keep going in the spring.

Later that night, curled up, sleep won't come. Instead, I am remembering. It's what you never, ever do, no matter what. It's too hard. The memories are not for here. Not for me. I cannot remember, I can only look for the future - if there is one. I can only fight forward. I can never go back.

_His name was Jacob, and his dark eyes sparkled. Even when they took us to the ghettos, his eyes still sparkled. On Hanukkah, his beautiful voice sang all the songs with pride and faith. On Passover, his deep voice read the story of Moses, the saviour of all Hebrews. He loved me, and I loved him back. My brother Jacob, my beautiful brother with his beautiful voice and beautiful eyes. I have not seen him since Auschwitz, when we were separated at the train. Jacob and Father went one way, my mother and my baby sister and I another. And then my baby sister was taken from my mother. And when my mother refused to leave her, they took her too. I made to follow her, but a young man with ginger hair and blue eyes shoved me into another line. I never saw any of them again, and I know they gassed my mother. _

_After Auschwitz, they sent me to Ravensbruck. A transport that came at midnight, whilst we slept. They woke us up, chose women, sent us on a train. Then it was Sobibor. Now it is Bergen-Belsen. The worst camp? I don't know. I saw little children taken to be killed, with no flicker on the faces of the men who led them. I saw old women and old men, with faces ingrained with the knowledge only great age may bring, walking with pride and dignity. _

_And, then, quite some time ago, maybe weeks, perhaps a month, news! The Russian's are in Poland. And they have liberated Auschwitz. Then it is true, and the Allies are getting closer. Who will get here, then? The Russians? The Americans? The British, even? Is Auschwitz truly free? If Jacob, my father - perhaps they did make it, perhaps they are alive! Perhaps, even now, they are trying to find me. Oh, Lord, please let them be alive. Let them live, I pray. Please, let my brother and my father still be living. Will they know already what happened to Mummy, and to baby Rebecca? Will they think I matched their fate? Will they believe that I too, am dead? No, my brother would not assume. He'll know me enough to know that I'm still fighting?_

_The ghetto was frightening. All five of us in one room. Mummy, Rebecca and I on some boards. Daddy and Jacob under the table. There were lines for everything in the ghetto. In the yard for water, by the toilets. Lines for the bread ration, lines for roll call. The Nazi's seem obsessed with lines. Perhaps because, in a world with no sense, lines are reliable, safe. But the ghetto was alive. Laughter and singing still went on. Chatter began in the morning, ended at night. The Torah was still read in a room they assigned for the synagogue. _

_Then they took all the books, photographs, everything on paper. All my books, all my writings. The Torah burnt. That was the day the light in Jacob's eyes died. That was the day they broke my brother. The day they took away the Torah. The rabbi began to pray as the flames died. One by one, we repeated it. Then everyone was saying it, and I was holding my brother's hand as he spoke. We prayed for longer that night. The rabbi still stood in the square the next day. He was crying silently, tears rolling into his beard. They took him and all the older men from the ghetto the next day. And then they came for everyone else. _

My eyes snap open. We are called for yet another infernal roll call. I'm not certain how much longer I can take this hell. I'm not certain how much longer I can go on fighting. I don't know the date, I don't know the time, I don't know when I'm getting food next. What kind of hell is this, and how long can we actually survive?


	3. Chapter 3

It's late March, much later than I originally thought. According to the guards, it is the final week of March, although even they seem hazy about the exact date. Typhus has sealed the camp in an iron grip, and people die almost by the hour. When you're too weak to work, they drag you to the infirmary. You don't come back. It's dark and infested with vermin. The rats and mice are bolder than us now. They'll fight you without a thought if you've got bread and they can sense you're too weak. They fight each other and if people die in the night, it isn't so uncommon to find little bite marks in the morning. I've thrown what rags I had away, traded them for a blanket. I'm trying to haggle for a new dress from somewhere, and I am not having much luck. I couldn't bear it. They were so tight and like cardboard, stiff with grime and lice. There are lice and fleas and god knows what crawling all over us. My hair is alive with nits and lice. At least it's short. At least I haven't got masses of it to get in the way. It's longer though, long enough to fall into my eyes and annoy me. Work has halted. We don't know why, we've been told nothing. But after roll call we were simply dismissed, standing in groups, murmuring together if we could work up to it. But life and soul seems to have been lost. Every where I look, there are dead eyes and hopeless looks. Yes, Auschwitz has been liberated, but when do they come for us, here? When do we get our freedom?

Another transport arrived. This, if nothing else, gives life. People gather round, asking after the people they know, asking if anyone they know for this ghetto, or that camp, or that town have survived, or dead, or liberated, or in another camp. Any information, any at all. A voice is calling my name, and I start. I was in the barrack, and a voice right outside is asking a question of someone.

"I am looking for Isabella Cohen. Isabella Cohen, she is Dutch, I don't know where she is, do you know of her?"

"This is her barrack. She may be here." Emotionless, flat. Someone has just been told a loved one is dead, or unknown. Unknown is worse than dead: at least dead is certain. At least dead is final, at least they've stopped suffering. At least you know something. I get up, go outside.

"I'm Isa- Alice?" I interrupt myself, staring at the girl in front of me. I'm still wearing that infernal blanket. It can't be Alice. I haven't seen Alice since the ghetto. From Westerbork, she went to Ravensbruck. I haven't been able to trace her since. I loved her like a sister, and we would talk for hours about after the war.

It's her, it's really her. In the mud and death of Bergen Belsen, I have my best friend. In the last place I ever wanted to see her, she is here, right in front of me. She hasn't changed a bit, unlike me. Always with shorter hair, always skinny, she looks just as she did the day we said goodbye in Westerbork. It's scary.

"Bella?" she whispers. I have changed. I have gone from soft curves to bones jutting out at alarming angles. I have gone from long dark curls to short, tufty hair. My cheekbones feel like they jut out like glass, and I can feel dips near my temples, up around my eyes. I know that I resemble a skeleton. My hips are covered by paper-thin skin, sores on my hips, elbows, shoulders, knees, everywhere bones are particularly exposed. A year old cut on my leg has never fully healed, still splitting and bleeding some days. I don't know what to say to her. Her eyes take in every inch of me, wrapped in my pitiful blanket. I'm filthy, I know it. Her eyes are still so kind and soft. "Is it actually really, truly you?"

"What's left," I say. It's true. She can have what is left of me now, but I've left too much of it behind. Too much of me has been lost. I've seen too much death now. I have stopped caring. She wraps me in a hug.

"Is Jake here?" she asks me, looking around as if she expects him to sprint at her from behind something, fling her over his shoulder and run away with her, her shrieking with laughter all the while - just as they always did.

"No. Jake and I - we were separated. At Auschwitz. I don't know if he's OK. Daddy, I don't know about Daddy."

"Aunt Renee? Baby Rebecca?"

"They're - they were taken away at Auschwitz. They're dead. What about -?"

"Dead. Mummy died on the train. Daddy died in Westerbork. He was never strong, Bella."

We sleep alongside each other that night. We reached a very silent agreement to not discuss anybody else. It would only mean endless what ifs, and I can't handle any more what ifs. I can't take any more speculation. All I can do is wait. Wait and keep fighting. I have to survive this, I must. I need to find Jake, find my father, and then we can go home. Except where is home, now? Is home still there? The Allies bombed Holland long before I was taken away. Are they still bombing Holland, and did they bomb the apartment block where I lived? Is there a home to go back to? And if there is a home to go back to, do I really want to go back there? Go back to the place where I was woken up violently by a man I didn't know, dragged out of bed by a man I didn't know. Go back to the city where I became a complete stranger to people I considered friends almost overnight. Is that really what I want? No. Too many memories, of Mummy and Becky, of friends and family I know I may never see again. A fresh start. I need a fresh start. I don't know where I'd go. I don't know where and how, but I need a fresh start in a new country, and get a new life.

I make sure Alice stands next to me for roll call. Today is different. After roll call, we are just dismissed. People wander the camp like ghosts, looking for faces they might recognise, coming to grips with the news that yet another loved one has died in the night. This isn't how it should be. We should be working. What is happening? Outside the wire, beyond the guards and guns and dogs, what is taking place? Is there safety marching forward?

"Alice, what happened to you?"

"You know that from Westerbork, I was sent to Ravensbruck. I was there for a year. Then I was sent to Theresienstadt. From there to Auschwitz, and from Auschwitz to here."

"It's taken you two months -"

"Yes. We were - every time we stopped, we picked up more and more people. I don't know how many camps we had to stop at. Bella, there is so much talk about."

"Auschwitz has been liberated. The Allies are getting closer. The guards are talking all the time. The Allies are getting closer. They say Churchill is talking victory. They say Stalin is getting closer. American troops have reached France. Stalin is in Warsaw, Berlin, Paris. Depends who you listen to, the rumours you believe."

"Bella, where are your clothes?" Alice asks. I understand her question perfectly. Too much hope is dangerous. Too much hope makes you over-confident. Ask about something safe, something that doesn't involve glancing at the gates every five minutes, half-expecting the Allies to march through them.

"I threw them away."

"Oh."

She curls up beside me that night.

"Bella, when you get out of here, what will be the first thing you do?" I can't help the smile. That is so Alice. We're in a bad situation. So, let's plan what we'll do when we're removed from the situation.

"I'm going to have a slice of proper bread. Not the shit they give us here. I'm going to have a proper slice of real bread."

"I'm going to have a drink of water. I've forgotten what it tastes like. I'm going to have a drink of water."

"Then I'm going to have a bath. A hot one, with all the water I want, and bubbles. Strawberry soap and a soft sponge. A towel, a really thick fluffy one, that's been by the fire so it's nice and warm."

"I'm going to sleep for as long as I want. In a big double bed, with thick quilts and blankets, with hot water bottles by my feet and feather pillows. Uninterrupted, no guards screaming horrible German insults at me and no roll call while it's still dark."

"I'm going to go shopping, and buy myself a dress. A dress of my own, that fits and is clean."

"We should find a flat together. We could go to London. London's so pretty, isn't it? Do you remember the picture in our Geography text book in primary school?"

"The Houses of Parliament, and the clock tower of Big Ben."

"Saint Paul's Cathedral, the Tower of London."

"It's so very beautiful. Do you remember all the talk about Mr Churchill? He's Prime Minister. He's already talking about winning the war. Aly, do you think it's nearly over?" There is a very long silence. There it is - that hope that everyone has, the hope that nobody dares to voice, the hope that can destroy you if you hope too hard. The hope that there is almost no time left for this horrible war, that freedom is within touching distance.

"Yes," she whispers, very quietly. "I think it's nearly over. I have this feeling. I can see it Bella. I know we're going to be free."

_**A/N: I brought Alice in because she needs to be here. Remember that i NEED you guys now more than ever, and I need to know you're liking this story, or not liking it, or hating it. Thanks for all the support i've had so far XXX**_


	4. Chapter 4

APOV

I will never forget that first glimpse of Bella. A blanket as her only clothing, cheekbones that could have cut glass, dark hair cropped short, and a horrible wound on one leg. She was limping, but her back was still straight, her head still held high, and even though they were sunken, her brown eyes were still there, still flashing. It was so stunning, now, how much she really did look like Jacob.

We were never out of each others sight after that. She'd learned when to shy away from the guards, when to meet their eyes. Who to avoid, who to go to if you needed favours. She finagled clothes from somewhere, a dress but no shoes. A week after my arrival, the cut on her leg, which she'd explained, become infected.

"I got this in Auschwitz. It's not healing - I'm not healthy enough. I fell over, landed on glass. You can be sure they never bothered with it. I was picked up, pushed back into line. The women in my barrack block did whatever they could. Stopped the bleeding for then, but now it just keeps opening up at whim."

I wake up one morning, and she is slightly hotter than she should be. Her cheeks are a little too pink. The cut on her leg is oozing something thick and dark. I don't know what that is, but it isn't blood. She won't go to the infirmary - she says that you never come out alive. She stands on roll call, lips clamped together, but I never once saw her shed a tear. That was it, I realised, that was what that feeling of sheer awe and slight fear had always been inspired by, from the moment I met her. I'd never seen her cry. Not in the ghetto, when the guards shouted the most horrendous names, when she got too close to the fence, and a guard grabbed her and had a good feel. She never cried. When they burnt the Torah, all her books, all her writing, and she never once cried. Her life went up in flames, but she never cried. She did not cry when she admitted she did not know where her brother was. She did not cry when she said that her mother and baby sister had died. She never cried in front of me, and I don't know if she did. She never discussed it.

The infection worsens. She's still walking around, making sure guards see her doing so, so she won't be forced to go anywhere.

It's spring. I can smell it, and beyond the wire, fields are starting to turn green, blossom is starting to grow, leaves are budding. It was a long time coming, but spring is here. My question now is whether or not Bella will see summer. Thin before, she seems to have lost even more weight. I'm beginning to suspect she has no infection - I'm scared she has typhus. Somehow, she's lost yet more weight. She struggles to stand upright. It takes her whole minutes to stand up in the mornings, trying to get her blood flow to return to normal. Bella is a skeleton. I can see every bone. Her skin is like paper, her eyes huge and dark. She barely looks human any more, and she looks decades older. Any food I manage to get, I give to her. She refuses point blank to accept anything unless I break it in half, eat half right then and there, and only then will she agree to eat. She's dying, I know it. She won't survive much longer. We need liberation. We need saving, before it is too late for Bella. Before it's too late for everyone. Every day, more people die. I get whatever I can for Bella - another blanket, somebody's hidden supply of bread. Bella might be sick, but she's still so in charge it's frightening. Somebody died in the night, and she found his bread ration. He must have been hoarding for months. She calls for the people in our block to wake up. She shares that bread around everyone, making sure everyone has an equal share. Everyone eats, and she is helped up by most people in the block. She limps, but her spine is somehow still straight. I and the woman on the other side of Bella make sure she never puts any weight on her bad leg at roll call, letting her lean on us in turns. Someone from another block comes up after dismissal pressing something into Bella's hands.

They gave her socks. She wouldn't take them, of course not. She gave them to a man in our block, insisted he wear them. She whispers that night that he is a rabbi, and prayed with her every night when he was still strong. Voices from all around ask Bella to pray for them that night. She doesn't speak in Dutch, as I expected her to. It isn't German. She speaks in Hebrew, and voices from all around us join her.

It's a struggle waking her up the next morning. She has to be assisted onto roll call, but there are no guards to stop us. We stood for much longer than was normal. Eventually, with no counting having taken place, we were dismissed. I insist Bella lies down in our barrack, and I go to try and find us food. Suddenly, I notice gates are open, there are no guards anywhere in sight, and I can hear marching feet. I can hear engines and a loud voice, shouting in a language I do not recognize. Suddenly, a tank rolls through open gates.

They will kill us all, right here, I think, terrified. We will all die now. I run - I don't know where I find all the strength for it - run right back to Bella, and insist she joins me.

"Alice," she says, very calmly. "Just let me die."

"Bella, I think we are liberated! There is a tank, and men in strange uniforms, speaking in a language I don't understand. You have to come now!"

"I can't."

"Then I will help you. I will help you walk. You must lean on me, we will go slowly."

She agrees to accompany me, and we go very, very slowly towards the gates. I shout to everyone around me. People turn towards the gates, and I realise that this is what hope is. Hope is in these skeletal prisoners, hope is in the eyes of the living dead, who finally have cause to hope that we are going to get out of here. The voice is still shouting in the strange language. People are confused.

"English," Bella says to me, her voice clear and strong for the first time in days. "They're speaking English! The British are here." She listens. "Help me to the front, Alice." I tighten my grip on her, and we start walking forward. The crowd part, and we see the soldiers. So many soldiers, all looking at the ranks of prisoners. You can read shock on their faces. More than one man's face is pale. My eyes are drawn to three men in the front. Brothers, the familial resemblance is too strong for them to be anything else. Different but the same.

EmmettPOV

The commander repeats his request for anyone who speaks any English to step forward. I think I am going to throw up. There is a fearful smell in the air, the smell of filth, of blood. The stench of death is all pervading. The prisoners are terrifyingly thin. They have no age, they all look so old. Edward's lips are clamped together. There are not words for this here. How is this the same country that we came through just yesterday, headed for the camp?

We heard all the rumours. The talk from the American's about what they saw when they liberated Auschwitz. The gas chambers, the crematoriums, the prisoners who simply stared into space, who didn't care about anything, who would not talk. And even worse, those who screamed names at the soldiers, desperate for news. The people who were found still fruitlessly trying to revive friends and family. People so desperately hungry, their bodies were physically incapable of eating. How do you keep the dead alive?

But I never, in a million years, thought that I would ever see anything like this. I never thought I would face a sea of skeletons, all looking at us with no trace of emotion. Are we here to save them? Or are we here to increase their suffering? These are the questions these people will want to ask.

Suddenly, the crowd parts. Two tiny, emaciated figures come forward. One is supporting the other, who has an open, oozing, foul wound on one of her legs. Both are thin, but the injured one seems much more fragile and broken. But she makes an effort to pull herself straight, and meets the eye of the commander on the tank.

"I speak some English. My name is Isabella Cohen. May I help with anything?" Her voice is clear, her head held high. This is a woman who has had all fear beaten out of her. She is no longer afraid of anything.

"Tell them we are here to help, that we are the British, and they are liberated."

"Will they be fed?" she asks. Not "we" I notice, but "they".

"We will do what we can. The diet must be monitored at first."

"Yes, I understand that. Human body is fragile, no?" Her English is the perfection that only people who learn it on top of their own language can have. "I will tell them." She is handed down the megaphone, and her arms shake as she lifts it to her lips. Her friend helps her. She says something in a language I think might be Dutch, and then in German. And then she says it again in Hebrew. Voice immediately begin to talk, and somebody shouts a question. Isabella translates.

"He wishes to know if there is any information on the other camps. Where has been liberated? Where is still to go? Is there information on other survivors?"

"Not at the current time. We will try and find out information for you." She tells them this, again in three languages, and another question is called out, in Hebrew.

"When can we leave?"

"As soon as possible. Hopefully within days. We will organise the evacuation."

"There is something you ought know, sir. We have typhus here."

I will dream of this hell for the rest of my life. I will dream of this nightmare for eternity. And the stench of hell will be with me forever.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: Sorry if Dutch is wrong. As of this chapter, I begin to embellish certain details. Please do not take offence, but there is a limit of the amounts of information between the British/Canadian forces arriving at Bergen-Belsen, and the prisoners actually leaving. Arrival: April 15th, Evacuation: April 21st. I'm doing my best. This is where I take over. Please stop me if I become insensitive.**_

EmmettPOV

"Jasper, wake up," I mutter, shaking him. He sits bolt upright, gasping for breath. He's sweating, eyes huge in a pale face. We're camped just outside Bergen Belsen. The dark girl was right about the typhus. It's getting worse. The lice are carriers, and I have no trouble surmising that there are plenty of lice to carry it from prisoner to prisoner. "Let's go for a walk."

We deliberately keep our backs to the camp.

"I keep seeing their faces. I keep seeing their eyes. All those dead eyes, staring at me, asking me questions I couldn't answer, didn't understand. Saying names, over and over, and I had to keep saying no. And they're still dying. They thought we'd come to save them. But they're still in that camp."

"The evacuation starts tomorrow. They're being taken to a hospital in Berlin. It will be OK, Jasper."

"They're still dying," he hisses. "That Isabella girl - every day, she brings us reports on how bad it's all gotten, how many more died in the night, new infections. The only one who speaks English should be in a hospital herself. She's going to get, or already has, septicaemia in that cut on her leg."

"Like she'll go."

"Yes, I got that impression." He's silent. "So much death, Emmett. How can there be so much death? How can so many people die, but the world keep turning? What kind of monster does this?"

"Monsters who will go on trial for what they've done."

"It's not enough."

"I know."

"Can I join you?" Edward asks. "They'll be serving breakfast in a minute. To the people in the camp."

"And that's another thing. Do you remember when we first fed them? And they looked at the bread like they didn't know what it was? And they actually asked what soup was?"

"This isn't helping," I say. "We have to focus on keeping them alive. They'll be in a hospital tomorrow."

Isabella is talking to the commander. I have already been asked to see him, so I stamp to attention and salute. She visibly jumps.

"I will let them know about tomorrow. Thank you, very much, for all you have done for us here. You have saved a lot of lives."

"People are still dying," I say, unable to stop myself.

"Yes, people are still dying. And I may die tomorrow. Death here means precious little. Less have died since your arrival. Since you came, less are dying each night. When you take us to Berlin, they will get the help they need. You are saving us, even though it mayn't look so now."

"Thank you, Isabella," the commander says. She begins to limp away.

"You wanted to see me, Sir?"

"You are going to make sure she makes it to Berlin in one piece. She's talking about going to England. Apparently she had sympathetic neighbours, who hid her passport, and those of her family. When she gets to Berlin, you'll see she is treated for that ghastly wound, and you and your brothers are going to help the Red Cross in Berlin with the victims. They're expecting you, you'll all be met off the train."

"Yes, Sir."

"Make sure she eats something."

She's reached the friend she was with that first day we saw her. They're talking in what sounds like Dutch.

"Can we help you?" It isn't Isabella talking. This one has a much thicker accent. "Ik deed het!"

"She said, 'I did it'. I'm teaching her English. This is Alice."

"Nice to meet you."

"My commander said I am to make sure that you reach Berlin safely."

"Where I go, Alice goes. We are friends."

"Wat zei hij?"

"Voorzieningen voor morgen. She asked me what you said, I told her arrangements for tomorrow."

"Is it Dutch or German"?

"Dutch. I was born in Amsterdam. Alice also, but we meet in the ghetto."

"You'd say met."

"Pardon?" she says, screwing her forehead up.

"When you say you've met someone, it isn't meet, that's future tense. Met is past tense."

"Ah, I see this. Thank you. May I ask something?"

"Of course." God, don't make her ask me about her family.

"What was the date, the day you came for us?"

"April 15th, 1945." Her smile is brilliant, and Alice looks puzzled.

"Soldier, the liberation was the day of my eighteenth birthday. Thank you."

"Wat is het?"

"Het was mijn verjaardag!"

"Wat het is?"

"De bevrijding." I creep away, leaving them to hug. I take a guess that Bella was telling her that April 15th was her eighteenth birthday. What a birthday present. Listening to the Dutch chatter actually, in an odd way, makes me madly homesick. My father Carlisle was working in a hospital in Cornwall, and he made our mother leave the city and move with him, to escape all the bombing. The hospital staff welcomed him with open arms and they got settled. With all three of their sons in the army, they needed an occupation. Dad had the hospital, Mum joined the ARP. She said that she had to feel like she was doing something, anything to help. Their easy patter reminds me of Mum and Dad, sitting by the fire at home, before the war, perhaps Mum having the cat on her lap, Dad scratching the dog behind the ears. Jasper buried eyes deep in some history book, Edward playing piano. And me. Me, the odd one, the one on the sidelines.

No specific talent. No defining feature to explain myself at parties, dinner dances, ones my father threw regularly. Jasper had his books and his university degree. His love of history. He wanted to teach. He did one year in the local girls secondary school, after the boys school turned him down. Then war broke out, and he signed up on the spot. Jasper loved history, and now he had his chance to be history.

Edward has his music. Wonderfully talented, he wanted to do nothing but compose. He studied music. He joined up because he wanted to make things right with the world. He wanted justice, Germany defeated. He joined to fight so he could do something moral.

And me. I didn't go to university, had no real desire to continue on after my Higher Certificate. I got a job - just a labourer, fetching, carrying. Big strong Emmett, I think, dully. Is that all there is to me? Big, reliable, useless Emmett? Good for a laugh, but dumb? I joined up because I knew that with the army, I could put sheer physical size to good use. I joined up because I promised Dad I'd look after Jasper and Edward. Promised Dad they'd be fine, because I was there. Huh. Useless. Me, that's me: slightly useless, oddly lost, with no real goal. I'm not doing lugging around for the rest of my life. I'll find something else to do. Find a career. Not the army, I couldn't stay now.

But none of this matters now. Because the train is here, and the inmates from the camp are being loaded on to it. I spot Isabella, her limp more obvious than ever, clinging to Alice as they board the train. I wonder how much of Isabella's weight Alice can actually support. The train fills quickly, and the commander sends Jasper, Edward and I off with it. The next train pulls in. I embark on a mission to actually find Isabella. Trained and registered medics are on this train - one of them needs to see to Isabella.

But Alice bursts into the soldiers compartment just as I'm making preparations to come and find them both.

"Emmett!" she cries, spotting me. "Is Bella!" Her English is appalling, heavily accented, and broken. "Please!" I assume she wants me to come with her. She's scary thin, and the artificial lights in the train make her look like a skeleton. Her skin is more or less see-through. She's badly out of breath, but she can only walk very slowly. I realise she must have tried to run.

"Where, Alice? Where?" I cry, but she looks at me helplessly. She doesn't understand. Jasper shoves me gently to the side.

"Take us," he says, loudly and slowly, gesturing at me and him, "to Bella." He mimes walking. "Bella," he says again, for good measure. She seems to understand that, as she nods vigorously and turns around. Bella is three compartments down. She is quite literally green. Where she isn't green, her face is grey, right to her lips. Her eyes are closed, and fine blue veins cross the lids. A sore on the side of her neck is purple and blistered, and her lips are split and bleeding. I send Jasper to find a medic, and set about trying to bring her around. I give her a little water, and rub her hands. She moans softly, and I assume my actions hurt her. The medic is brisk and bustling. She shoves me to the side, and inspects Bella. Her face is grim.

"This should have been treated years ago," she says, pointing at the horrible sore on Bella's leg. "I'd like to get my hands on the men who've done this, death's too good for them, they ought to go through what this poor thing's gone through. How old is she? Fifty? Sixty?" I take a damn good look at her. She does look like an old woman, I realise.

"She's eighteen."

"Good lord!" She opens up her first aid kit, and takes out wipes, towelling, rolls of bandages and anti-septic cream. "She almost certainly has septicaemia. Priority patient." The moment she touches Bella's leg, her eyes fly open, and Bella screams. Alice begins to cry. Uproar descends on the rail carriage. "Dear God," the nurse says. "It was better all around when she was unconscious."

"Has she been in pain a long time?"

"If she hasn't, she isn't human. I imagine that now the need to keep going has been negated, she's giving in."

"If it hurts her, maybe you should stop."

"If I don't do something now, she won't reach Berlin. Bella, do you need something to hold onto?"

"Yes," Bella rasps, and I jump. I hadn't realised she was alert. The nurse directs me to hold onto her. Fair play. If she hold's Alice's hand, there'll be broken bones all round. The nurse is as gentle as possible, but Bella is still in obvious pain. She's bandaged up, and the nurse gives her something to help with the pain. It's probably only aspirin. We're left with strict instructions to make sure that Bella does nothing that would put any weight on her leg at all. We have to go and get her, or another medic, if any discharge or blood begins to soak through the bandages. We have to tell the Red Cross staff at Berlin that she is "priority" and must be treated immediately for severe septicaemia. Alice needs treating for severe malnutrition and some angry looking sores on her arms and neck. We tell the nurse we're being sent to help the Red Cross.

"At least there are some soldiers in this world who still have their souls." I tell her not to count on it. Jasper goes off and brings back Edward, and we help the medics distribute a very weak sugar-milk solution - the only diet that won't kill them, as they're so severely underweight. Admittedly, Bella has only about half of her share and then lies back in her seat. At least she is no longer that ghastly shade of green. I draw the medic's attention to the lack of appetite, and am told that half the mixture is good going for someone so ill, and half is better than none.

When we finally arrive in Berlin, Bella has been unconscious for five hours. Alice's terror is palpable. I carry Bella off the train, and she's put into an ambulance. Her chances are slim.

Over the next few days, I find out from a Red Cross man that Alice has supplied information on Bella's family. She, it transpires, has nobody left. Bella, who is fighting back from the brink after receiving massive amounts of anti-biotics, is everything she has left in the world.

I learn that Bella's father is dead, and the rest of her family were gassed at the very beginning. Only a brother remains unaccounted for. Alice says that this brother is called Jacob. All she knows for certain was that he was in Auschwitz. Alice says that Bella didn't know her father had died, and insists upon being the one to tell her. Bella immediately asks to see someone, anyone, associated with the Red Cross, someone who can help her with information. Quite by chance, I am sent to her. She looks surprised.

"We keep encountering each other, do we not?"

"I was the only one free."

"Of course. My father is dead, this I understand. However, I would like a little more information, if this is obtainable. I would like very much to know where he died."

"Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Yes. I had a brother. His name was Jacob, my _dear _Jacob." Her eyes are very warm, her smile sweet as she recalls this brother. "I want to know if he is still alive. I also wish to contact my neighbours in Amsterdam. They kept the passports of my family. I wish to make arrangements to move to England - permanently. I have an address for my neighbours. I need the Red Cross to help me make the necessary arrangements for my passage, accommodation, for Alice including and, naturally, before all this happens, I need to know for certain where my brother is, and whether or not he lives."

I tell her we can help her with all this. While she speaks, I reflect that there is already colour in he cheeks. She's still too thin, and I know it will take quite some time for her to gain weight. I know that as healthy as she begins to look, the emotional scars will take much longer to heal.


	6. Chapter 6

BPOV

I am still in hospital in Berlin, nearly a month after the liberation. I am slowly gaining strength, but the doctors tell me I will walk with a limp for the rest of my life. The Red Cross are doing everything they can to find my brother. I have received a package from my old neighbours in Amsterdam, and from Alice's. Our passports are here.

But I will not leave for England until I find my brother, or know for certain that he is dead. My eyes prickle at the thought of my Jacob being dead. Nobody knew, not even Alice, that I cried in the dead of night for him, for my father. I sat _shiva_ for Daddy for the seven days, although he has been dead longer than a week, tearing a rend in my hospital gown, refusing all food, not for the practice itself, but for Daddy. He died in hunger and in pain - I will suffer a little longer for him. I pray for his soul, that he is happy now. The hospital finds me a Rabbi, and he reads the Torah for me. On the last day, Emmett brings me a hot meal, before leaving me in my silence. It upsets me that the traditional _shiva_ cannot be observed - they can find no persons to make up the _minyan_ to perform the services. But I sit it, and I pray, and I hope that Daddy is happy now, with Mummy and Rebecca. Perhaps they have met Grandmother, who died before this horrid war. She was my favourite storyteller when I was a child. I would climb into her lap, and she would slip me boiled sweets, or, on rare and great occasions, a slice of candied orange peel. And while I sucked my sweets or chewed my orange peel, she would tell me stories. Stories of Moses, stories of Rebecca, stories of Isaac and Jacob. My favourite was the story of Noah and his Ark, with all the fabulous exotic creatures spending all that time on the Great Flood. But the stories I liked best were the stories Grandmother would tell me of her childhood, Grandfather and my father, when he was small. I would look at my Daddy, and I couldn't believe that my Daddy would have been so naughty. And then, other times, when Daddy would play with me, tickling me until I screamed and wriggled, and I could well believe it.

And then Jacob. I don't remember him as a baby - I was still only one. But I remember him learning to toddle, and running after me, shrieking with laughter as I kicked a ball for him, taught him to tie laces, button his coat, and put his socks on. And then, when he got taller than I did, he'd pick me up, and run away with me, and we'd both be laughing. And then the occupation came, and I was only 13, and he was only twelve. And suddenly Daddy didn't laugh any more, Mummy didn't sing, and every knock on the door would mean frightened glances and being told to hush. And suddenly, Jacob and I had to grow up, and grow up pretty damn fast. Suddenly, I had to be brave and Jacob had to be braver. And when we moved to the ghetto, and then we were taken to the camps, it was like Jacob and I had to be the parents, because everyone was so silent and scared. And when they tore me and Jacob apart, and I screamed until somebody punched me and kicked me, and screamed at me in German to be quiet.

And then, on the day _shiva_ ends, Emmett brings me news. He bursts into our ward, and some of the more highly-strung patients cry out in alarm. He apologise, and rushes up to to me.

"Emmett -"

"Hitler is dead! The Nazi's have surrendered! Isabella, it is over! Tell them! Tell them all!"

And so I translate, in a shaky voice, the news we've been praying for for years. Emmett helps me up, into a chair, and I go into Alice's ward.

"Hitler is dood. De Nazi's hebben overgegeven. Het is voorbij, Alice." Alice's eyes widen, and her face lights up.

EPOV

If only I could complete Bella's happiness. If only today was the day that I could tell her that we've found her brother, and he's alive. But nobody even seems to have heard of a Jacob Cohen. After arriving in Auschwitz, he seems to disappear. Plenty of people can say he was in Auschwitz. But not one person knows what happened to him. I have to tell her that night that the trail is going cold. But for now, while she laughs with Alice, I can't. I can't say it. How could I tell her that we believe her brother will never come back to her? How could I put into words what the Red Cross fears - that Jacob Cohen has become a statistic - one of the growing death toll of innocent people who died at Nazi hands? "Unaccounted For" becomes "Presumed Dead" quickly. And I am scared that Bella won't be able to take any more bad news. No, for now, I will let her have her happiness. Let her celebrate with Alice, let her revel in the knowledge that there are no maniacs with guns coming after her now. Let her be happy.

I put my dilemma before my brothers later that day.

"What do I do? If I tell her, it'll destroy her happiness. If I don't tell her, she'll hate me for keeping it from her."

"Why do you have to be the one who tells her?"

"The Red Cross thinks it'll be better coming from me, because we know each other. I don't know her that well, for heavens sake."

"Yes, but you talk all the time. You're basically thinking about offering her a place to stay in England."

"Edward, do you know everything? Seriously, do you have 'abilities' or something?"

"No, Dad wrote. He wanted to know who she was and so on. It's fine with them, by the way. And they'll take Alice and Jacob." He doesn't add 'if' and I'm grateful. I don't want to tell Bella the 'if', I don't want to tell her the 'maybe'. I can't be the bearer of bad news.

But I have to.

She's back in bed, very pale and very tired.

"Emmett, sit down," she says, warmly, finding a smile from somewhere. I ignore the chair, and sit on her bed. She looks surprised, but doesn't throw me off.

"Isabella, I have to tell you something. And I'm not much for tact, so I'll have to just say it." I take a deep breath, and take her hands. "We - the Red Cross - haven't been able to find your brother. Nobody can remember meeting him in Auschwitz, or any other camp. The trails gone cold. I'm sorry, but the Red Cross will declare him presumed dead in a week."

"No. Emmett, tell me this isn't true. I can't have lost him too. He can't be dead. He must be alive!" Her eyes are huge, her face grey now, lips parted. And for the first time, I see tears in her eyes. "Emmett, he can't be! My Jacob isn't dead!"

"Isabella, I'm sorry. There are so many people. It may be that we just haven't found him yet. He could be alive. They're going to try the Polish hospitals too. Isabella, look at me! If he is alive, I will find him for you. If he is alive, I will get him back to you. I give you my word. I swear."

"Why would you do this for me, Emmett?"

"Because you are brave, and strong, and unbeatable. Because you deserve his life. Because you are the bravest person I've ever met, Isabella, and I want you to be happy, because you deserve it. You don't ever cry! Not you, don't you dare cry! They aren't worthy of your tears. Be brave for a little longer. I am going to find him for you."

She cried a little, then dried her eyes. She said she was tired, and she wanted to sleep. So I left her, knowing I should never have promised I'd find him because it's a promise I cannot keep for sure. But I will try my hardest. Even if it is bad news, perhaps it will be closure for her, to know for certain.

"Did you tell her, Emmett?" The voice makes me jump.

"Bloody hell, Jazz. Yes, I told her." I rub my hands over my face, as if I can scrub away the image of Bella crying. It was so wrong watching her cry. Like watching a train wreck, in slow motion. It was almost frightening, seeing her cry, because Bella never cried. Jasper puts his hand on my shoulder, and doesn't ask any questions. He's learnt that I'll talk if I want. "Help me find him, Jazz. Help me find her brother." He agrees, and we go to bed.

Sleep evades me. All I see are her tears, all I hear is her begging me to tell her it isn't true. I get up, go outside, and look around.

I see ruins. I see the bombsites of Berlin, the rubble of old explosions. And in the grey dawn, I can see the ghosts. One grey figure seems real, almost. The mist seems to be swirling around him. When he speaks, his accent is familiar, although his English is flawless.

"Are you the Red Cross?" It takes me some time to realise he's real, and talking to me.

"Yes. Well, I work for them. I'm a British soldier."

"I am looking for my sister. I was told to come here, that she may be in Berlin. I was told to talk to the Red Cross when I arrived."

"I'll see what I can do. Why don't you tell me her name?"

"Bella - Isabella Cohen."


	7. Chapter 7

EPOV

I shake myself out of shock, and close my mouth with a snap.

"Jacob?" I splutter, staring at him.

"Yes. Jacob Cohen. Is Isabella here? Can I see her?"

"Oh, she's here. We've been looking for you. I -" I have to take a breath. "You'll have to answer a few questions, and it's too early for you to see her right away. Would you come with me?"

"Of course." I hurry him inside the hospital. I survey him. In proper light, he looks uncannily like Bella. He too is too thin, but not as thin as Bella. If he was in Auschwitz, I think, he would have had more recovery time. There is one very long, thin scar covering his face from temple, disappearing into the neck of the suit he's wearing. The suit in question is faded, crumpled, and creased - as though he's travelled a long distance sitting down. He looks exhausted, and, like Bella, looks too old for the age he must be.

"How far have you come?"

"I was in a hospital in Poland. Warsaw. Then the Red Cross sent me to Amsterdam, then to a hospital in Nuremburg, and they sent me here. I've been travelling around for a month. It's been very slow. I am not as recovered as some doctors would like. But I had to find my sister. I could rest, I told myself, when I had definite news about her. Is she really here?"

"Yes. She's here. And Alice Glück is also here. I understand you knew her?"

"How do you know so much, soldier?"

"I was one of the liberating soldiers in Bergen-Belsen. I met your sister when she became our translator. I've got to know her, during her stay here. We keep on meeting. I've been assigned to help her arrange a passage to England."

I hand him over to my commanding officer, who asks him where he was liberated, his name and date of birth. 'Unaccounted For' has become 'Survivor'. I take him to Bella at seven thirty. She's still asleep, pale still, and far too thin. Jacob starts when he sees her.

"I've never seen her with short hair. She had such beautiful hair. Such pretty curls, always, ever since I remember. She's older than me, by a year. She was always so beautiful, and I never saw her with short hair. We have the same eyes - our father's eyes. Is there information on my mother?"

"She was killed in Auschwitz. I am sorry, Jacob."

"What's she been through?"

"Perhaps, Jacob, I'm not the person to tell you that," I say. I slip away, watch him sit on her bed, take her hands in his. She wakes up with a start, and her startled cry of his name makes me step forwards involuntarily. Jasper clamps a hand on my shoulder and I literally jump.

"Is that Jacob?" he murmurs, determined not to disturb them.

"Yes. That's him."

"I'll let Alice know he's here. She's been equally worried. Give them some time, add Alice. They can celebrate."

BPOV

"How, Jake," I ask. "How did you find me?"

"I never stopped looking."

"I tried to find you. Every camp, and then every soldier, every Red Cross staff, every inmate I met - nobody knew if you were alive. I couldn't leave, I couldn't come find you, I'm so sorry, Jacob, I tried -"

"Shhhh, Bella. It is alright. I was strong enough to look for you, and you weren't able to come after me. We're back together. And I'm never going to let you go." I cling to him with an iron grip.

"But I'm the oldest. I was supposed to look after you. I promised Mummy, I promised I'd look after you, and I couldn't."

"Bella it's alright," he says desperately, sensing the rising notes of my voice. "You couldn't have stayed with me, we knew we'd be separated. We're back together, and that's how it's going to stay. It doesn't matter now, you did everything you could. Don't think I didn't know that you pulled strings in Westerbork to get us all sent to the same place. I kept going for you. I knew you'd be alright."

"But I -"

"No, Bella," he says, firmly, placing a finger on my lips. "No more. This wasn't your fault. I'm not going to let you go again, and you aren't going to let me go. It'll be alright now."

Then I cry. And I can't stop it. It's like everything over the last five years has finally hit me, and I can't control it any more. I can vaguely hear Jacob telling me to stop, that I _must_ stop crying. But I can't. Mummy, Daddy, Becky, Grandmother, and the months of worry over Jacob. Everything that really happened, everything that I will never be able to tell Jacob about. Things I will never be able to tell him, or anyone else, the full extent of. I hear new voices, new people telling me to calm down, but it's like they're separated, and I am drowning in my grief, unable to reach the surface, unable to swim through it. It's like glue, like mud. And then:

"Damnit, _I'll _make her stop." And strong hands seize my shoulders and shake, once, hard. "Isabella!" It's a command, and I stop. I gulp, hiccup, and gaze up at Emmett. "What did I say about you never, ever crying?"

JacobPOV

It frightened me beyond belief when Bella broke down. I've never seen my sister cry, not even when we were babies. She'd fall over, hit her head, and once, cut her forehead open. Not once did I ever see her cry. She viewed tears as weak, as giving in, and she never gave in. My father said she was a determined character, my mother called her stubborn. I called her brave. She was _my_ sister, and if she could be brave, I could be. Seeing her break was like a knife to the heart.

When Emmett had grabbed her and given her one good shake, I thought it'd kill her. She seemed twice as fragile when he stood over her. He was huge, and she looked like a scrap, a skeleton. Their eyes locked, as I saw some kind of understanding.

"It's too much, Emmett," she whispers. "I can't do this any more."

"Oh yes you can. You need to carry on being strong. There's a lot to talk about. You still need to get to England. You need to stay strong, just for a little while longer."

A nurse ushers us out, scolding Emmett in a running commentary.

"Young man, she should have been warned first. A shock to her system like that, she's nothing like strong enough yet, I should have been told and standing by for the inevitable reaction. This could set her back weeks, you do realise that? Having hysterics like that. I hope you intend to warn the friend before you spring this on her!"

"Yes, ma'am, we do. We have." The nurse huffs angrily and stomps off. "I'm sorry, Jacob. That wasn't fair -"

"No. Do not apologise, Emmett. Bella doesn't deal with things, she bottles them all up. You did her more good than harm today, I should think. I suppose I should take it as a compliment that women cry over me. Now, I should like to see Alice, if that would be acceptable?"

EmmettPOV

"Of course." I had him over to Jasper, and I refuse to watch the joyous reunion. I know that it will be the reunion Bella wasn't able to give him, because relief and reaction would have over-ridden the joy at her brother's survival. Instead, I go back to Bella, and make her one offer.

"There's a place for you, in England. I wrote to my father, and I explained that I had met a Jewish girl who was looking to relocate to England. We live in Cornwall. It's quite a big place, Isabella, and the offer extends to Alice and Jacob too. It's a safe, secure home, for you, and those you love. My father said that you would be made quite welcome, and you could stay for however long you needed."

"Emmett, why are you doing all this?"

"For you, and for your happiness."

"I cant pay him, Emmett, I have nothing. I have no clothes, no money, the only thing I own if my passport."

"He doesn't want paying, and he'd be offended if you offered."

"I can't take charity."

"It isn't charity. You're coming, Isabella, conversation over." She smiles tremulously.

"Then, if I may, I would write to your father, and accept his offer. But I have one last request of you, Emmett, even though I have asked too much already."

"Anything."

"Alice and Jacob. Alice is to be discharged tomorrow morning. I want you to get them both to England as soon as possible."

"When are they discharging you?"

"They may not. And if you tell my brother, or Alice, what I am about to tell you now, I will never forgive you. I have a chest infection. And the doctors say I'm probably not strong enough to fight it. Emmett, I may have very little time left. Get my brother and Alice safe. Promise me, Emmett. Promise me that they will be safe with you."


	8. Chapter 8

EPOV

I do as she asks me, my head reeling. I approach Jacob and Alice, and tell them of Bella's wishes without ever mentioning that it may be her last wish. Both of them agree to the plan to relocate to England, without Bella. I feel horribly guilty when Jacob agrees to the separation if it is only temporary. I realise why Bella insisted that he was not to be told.

She doesn't want her brother to watch her die.

Jasper and Edward reach the end of their service with the end of the war. No longer attached to the Red Cross, they agree to accompany Alice and Jacob to England, and home. They agree to carry a letter from Bella to Carlisle. Jacob doesn't know it, but inside the envelope is her last will and testament. I telephoned my father the moment she told me.

"Dad, it's Emmett."

"How are you, son?"

"Fine. Dad, I need to speak with you about Bella. She's sending a letter to you, but there will be her last Will and Testament inside it. Jacob needs a legal guardian. The thing is, she has nobody left. All her family are dead, and she didn't quite know what to do. She wants to speak with you before she signs the document."

"Mr. Cullen? This is Isabella Swan. I want to thank you, for everything you are doing for my brother, and Alice."

"I hope to be able to do the same for you."

"I hope this also. However, I must, for the sake of Jacob, make the necessary preparations in the event that I do not survive this infection. As Emmett has explained, I have no family left. This leaves me a problem. Alice is too fragile and too ill to be named legal guardian of anyone, and needs much looking after herself. Jacob is just seventeen, and therefore I must name a legal guardian, as his current legal guardian. I wish to name you as that legal guardian. I realise that I do not know you, and that Jacob does not know you, and that I am taking terrible liberties upon your kindness, but I -"

"Yes."

"Mr Cullen -"

"Call me Carlisle, please."

"Carlisle, for everything you have done for my family, I thank you. If there is any way I can ever repay you, I will do it." She started coughing then, and I took the phone from her.

"Emmett, get those doctors to check her chest again. That cough did not sound like just an infection. Would you like me to relay the full extent of Bella's fragility when they arrive here?"

"They must not come back to Berlin, Dad. Bella will never consent to her brother possibly watching her die. Tell them - they must be prepared."

"I'll telephone every day, you must keep us updated."

"Dad, I have to go. I have to say my goodbyes."

Jasper carried Alice to the waiting cab, sparing her strength as far as possible. There is a lump of cold dread wrapping icy fingers around my heart as I go back inside to Bella, after I have waved them off. I am frightened for her life, frightened by the terrible racking cough which seems to leave her so weak and disorientated.

Almost as soon as they'd left, Bella began coughing.

The next day, she was coughing up blood, and the doctors said the word tuberculosis, and moved her to isolation.

"Dad, it's me. Dad, it's Bella. They say she's got tuberculosis. She's in isolation, and they won't let me see her."

Two days after all the goodbyes, she was unconscious.

"Dad, it's me. Dad, it's Bella. She's unconscious. She's not fighting it."

Three days after they left, I was told I had to prepare myself to say my goodbyes.

"Isabella is too weak to fight this. Severe malnutrition, years of extreme suffering and hardship, and her septicaemia have rendered her body virtually destroyed. Her survival is unlikely to improbable. I'm very sorry. I know you had become friends. But you must prepare yourself. I don't expect her to see the weekend."

I call Carlisle, struggling with a lump in my throat, and tears in my eyes.

"Dad, it's me. Dad, it's Bella. Dad, they say she's going to die."

"Emmett, you have to stay strong. You have to keep going now. You have to carry on. There's always a chance, and there's always hope. Isabella is strong, if everything I hear from Jacob and Alice is anything to go on. I believe she'll fight until the end, whatever that end may be. Stay with her Emmett. Don't give up, not now. She wouldn't, so you mustn't."

"Dad, I don't know how I'm meant to feel."

"Emmett, do you have feelings for this girl?"

"Dad, that wouldn't be appropriate. She's been through so much."

"Do you have feelings for Isabella?"

"You'd better be alone."

"Of course. Well, your mother's here, but Alice, Jacob, Jasper and Edward are in the garden, drinking lemonade. Now, do you have -" There are muffled noises, and I hear Mum demand the telephone.

"Emmett? This is your mother. Ignore your father, he's being nosy."

"What am I meant to do, Mum? How am I meant to feel?"

"Oh, sweetheart, there's no rulebook on this subject. You do whatever your heart tells you."

"I don't know what that is yet."

"It'll come to you, honey. Go to Bella now. Pray for her, like we are here."

"Mum, I don't believe like she does -"

"That doesn't matter honey. Jews and Christians believe in the One God, and He hears all prayers, when they come from a person's heart. Pray for her now, pray for her suffering to end. Put her life into God's hands. And even if He takes her, she'll have no more pain and tears, no more suffering. Whichever path God chooses for her now, she'll be better."

I went into Bella. I had to be gowned and masked, and only then was I allowed to sit by her.

"Can she hear me?"

"We aren't sure. Just talk to her, if she can, it'll be a comfort to her."

"Isabella? It's Emmett. You have to wake up. You have to keep fighting. You can't give up now. You never give up. You just found Jacob. He needs you now. And Alice still needs you, she's got so far to go yet. Too many people still need you. Don't let them win, Isabella. If you die, they've won. Don't you dare." I run out of things to say then, so I reach out, take her hand. "They've arrested Goring. Think about that, Bella. They're going to put that bastard on trial for everything he's done. And they've found lots of other Nazi's. All of them will be tried and they will be brought to justice. You will have justice, Bella, but you have to be here to see it happen." I sit for a while, listening to her laboured breathing. "Please don't leave me Bella," I add, quietly.

At three the next morning, they woke me up. I was told, through a fog of sleep, that I was to get up, dress, and go with the nurse. Isabella Swan was dying, and I had to say goodbye.


	9. Chapter 9

I called home at four. The dreadful rattle in Bella's chest was still there, every breath she took grating and snarling like a caged beast. With terror and grief lying in my heart, I dialled the home number.

"Hello?" Esme's sleepy voice breaks me.

"Mum," I gasp, voice breaking on a sob.

"Emmett, what on earth's the matter?" she cried, sleep vanishing fast.

"Mum, you need to go wake up Jacob, I need to speak to him right now. She's dying, Mum. They say it's a matter of hours."

"Emmett, stay calm. I'll get him now. Hold on." I hear the click as she puts the phone on the table, and her footsteps receding. Less than a minute later, Jacob is speaking to me.

"Emmett, what's wrong? What's wrong with Bella? What's happening?"

"Jacob, I'm so sorry. You've been told Bella's sick."

"How long has she got?" I hear his unspoken question. Can I get there? Is there time for me to come to her?

"Hours. They say before midday. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Why are you sorry, Emmett? Sorry will not stop her dying. It is not your fault she is lying there, not your fault she is too weak to fight. It is not your fault they can't save her. I know that they will have tried. I am not angry at you, or the nurses, or the doctors. I'm angry with _them."_

"What do you want me to do?"

"Tell me. As soon as it's -" he takes a deep, shaky breath, and I hear the tears in his voice. "When she's not suffering any longer, Emmett, call. And arrange - I - I want her body back. I want to have a proper funeral. There's a synagogue not far from here. I want a funeral for her. A proper one. Bring her back to me, please. That's what I want from you. For you to tell me when she's not in any more pain, and she's not suffering any more, when she's happy again, and for you to bring her to me."

I promise him I will. I stand a thousand miles from him, and I swear that I will bring his sister's body back to him. I get the phone back in the cradle, and then slide down the wall. And I weep like a child, cry uncontrollably, for the promise I have had to make, and for Bella; strong, brave Bella, who fought so hard for life, and who got out alive, got better, and who'll now die here, after beating every odd against her. This isn't fair.

It isn't fair.

At midday, I'm holding her hand. Her doctor is standing with me, watching her chest rise and fall. He does not believe in miracles. A month ago, I did not believe in miracles. But I can believe in them now - Bella needs a miracle to save her. She needs to have a guardian angel right here, right now - and I am praying that whoever or whatever is out there gives her that miracle, gives her her guardian angel. She deserves one.

The clock ticks by the minutes. One o'clock comes, two o'clock passes by. At three, I am alerted. She squeezes my hand, so softly I thought I had imagined it.

"She squeezed my hand," I say, looking up at the doctor.

"She what?"

"Squeezed my hand."

"It's probably just a reflex action. Her body is shutting down, muscles are spasming."

"No, she squeezed my hand. Bella, Bella, do that again." This time it's definite. This time she squeezes my hand tightly. The doctor puts his hand in her free one. "Bella, squeeze. Both hands." She does so.

"That's not a reflex," he states, calmly. He puts his ear to her chest. The rattling has lessened, I'm sure of it, and I watch him straighten up, take temperature, pulse, count breaths. "Temperature has dropped, breathing and pulse have increased. Chest is clearer." He looks up at me. "It looks like we may get a miracle. The next twenty-four hours are crucial. This may just be one last rally. But if she survives the night and tomorrow, I am reasonably confident she will recover."

"Completely?"

"Oh no. She will probably never fully recover, but she will be well enough to live her life."

"Healthy?"

"Healthy enough. I don't know what you prayed for, but it looks like they gave you a miracle."

I phone Jacob at six o'clock. They were reasonably sure now. She was going to make it. She'd better make it, I thought, listening to the phone ring. Jacob deserved some good news. It's Jasper who answers.

"He isn't here, Emmett. He and Alice have been at the synagogue since you called this morning. They just asked us to tell them -"

"Well, you tell them this, Jasper. You tell them both that she's still alive and she's still fighting. Tell them that the next twenty-four hours are crucial, but if she survives it, she'll live. Tell them that, and tell them that the second they discharge her, I am going to bring her home. Tell them that someone heard their prayers."


	10. Chapter 10

Bella insists on being discharged barely a fortnight after she wakes up. Old enough to make her own decision, the hospital have no choice but to let her go. She's no longer contagious, and is strong enough to make a journey. Privately, they warn me that it is unlikely she will live to see England. Death is much more likely. But I can't talk her out of it, and I know better than to try already. She's determined. She sits up unaided, dresses unaided, and would walk out of there if I let her. However, if she won't let me stop her leaving hospital, she'll let me carry her to the car.

"Emmett, I am capable of walking - oh!" I take no notice of her attempts to get me to put her down, and carry her gently to the waiting car - ready to take us both to the docks.

She sleeps most of the journey, and then for most of the boat trip. Nonetheless, she looks horribly tired when we dock in Plymouth, and I make the decision to keep her there overnight. I get her into a bed, force some soup down her and then leave her to sleep.

"Hello, Mum, it's Emmett."

"Oh, thank heaven. We were expecting you hours ago. Has anything happened?"

"No, no. We've reached Plymouth. But she's absolutely exhausted, Mum, so I've got us a hotel. She can rest tonight, we'll come up to Bodmin on the train tomorrow."

"Oh no you won't. Your father will come with the car, I'll not have her getting on a train if she's already tired out. She can go to bed when she gets here, if she wants. Her room is all ready, but can she handle stairs?"

"As long as it's only one flight," I say cautiously, not certain she'll be able to manage that.

"Oh yes, dear, she's in that lovely little room next to the library."

"Didn't that used to be our playroom?"

"No dear, the other side - what was your father's study. I've aired it all out, and your grandmother made a lovely new blanket for the bed. And we blitzed some of my old things - a little out of date, but she'll have things to wear at least. This clothes ration's awful, so I'm not sure about new material any time soon, but we'll see what we can do. I'll see you tomorrow, dear, and we'll have to get some food in you." She hangs up efficiently, and I chuckle quietly as I hand the hotel manager back the telephone.

Bella is difficult to rouse the next morning, and she's slightly flushed. But when Carlisle arrives with the car, her face lights up. Jacob is beside him, smiling broadly. He cradles her like spun glass, and insists on being the one to carry her to the car. He looks stronger, in the three weeks since I saw him last. He's still too thin, but he doesn't have the frightful look that Bella still holds in her face.

When we eventually reach home, Alice is standing on the steps, well wrapped up even though the June sun shines, and Esme is right behind her. I fly out of the car and into my mother's arms. I put the last five horrific years and the last horrible, horrible few months into the hug. She puts me aside very gently as Bella walks - agonisingly slowly, and supported by Carlisle - up the steps to the door. Esme doesn't so much as blink, she simply enfolds Bella in her arms, and kisses her cheek.

"Welcome, Bella. We're so pleased you're here." With anyone else, it would sound forced and fake. With Esme, it's the most natural move in the world, and Bella embraces back. She looks painful next to my mothers warm, cosy, rounded frame.

"It looks lovely."

She closes herself away privately with my parents as soon as we arrive. I sit in the garden with Jasper, Alice, Edward and Jacob, watching Jasper fuss over Alice like a mother hen, making sure she's warm enough, asking her if she wants anything to eat or drink. She declines, so he sits himself down on the picnic rug at her feet.

"How is the English going, Alice?" I ask her, and she instantly beams. I'm struck suddenly by how pretty she is.

"The English, she goes well," she chirps, exactly like a bird. "I am becoming influent!"

"Fluent," Jasper corrects, smiling up at her. "Fluent."

"Yes, this fluent, I am becoming him." Jasper shakes his head in despair. "Why does he do this? I am improving much."

"Yes, you are, Alice. Jasper, keep quiet. How's your Dutch coming?" Alice, Jacob and Edward laugh at him, and I lie back on the grass and close my eyes, letting my mind drift to Bella and my parents.

BPOV

They've been very, very kind. Already I have been given a cup of tea to drink and a bowl of soup, a blanket tucked around my legs and there is a large and friendly dog sprawling at my feet. The dog frightened me at first - a huge Great Dane with a large wagging tail. Immediately, I thought of the dogs at the camps.

"We can put the dog out -"

"No, please, I must get used to him."

"Let him sniff your hand, it's how he makes friends," Esme encourages gently. I put my hand down to him, and he sniffed, licked, barked calmly and then put his huge head in my lap. Huge great brown eyes gazed up at me with such understanding, I immediately felt comforted. It was like he knew that I had suffered, and wanted me to feel better. I tentatively scratched behind his ears and got a sloppy kiss and a large dog lying at my feet. "Here, you look chilled. Some French onion soup - we grow our own vegetables here - and would you perhaps like tea?" Esme asks, pressing a porcelain bowl full of steaming, thick soup on me and offering the teapot.

"Mrs Cullen -"

"Oh, darling, call me Esme."

"Esme, thank you, this looks delicious. I want to thank you both, from my heart, for everything you have done and are doing, for my family. But I do feel that your hospitality -"

"Absolutely not, young lady," Carlisle says firmly, leaning forward. "You, Jacob and Alice are welcome here for as long as you need. We have the space and the money, and besides, you are in no fit state to leave yet. And we already feel, through Emmett's letters, that we know you, and we have become very attached to Jacob and Alice."

"Then you must let me earn my keep. Please do not argue with me. I want to do something towards the house, something to benefit. I wish - I need to feel helpful, with purpose."

"Then when you are back to health, we can see about finding you work somewhere. But you will be under my direct care and supervision for the next six months. It will take at least that to restore you to a healthy weight and suitable strength for any kind of work. That is the agreement. You'll do what I say when it comes to your health. And I say that as a doctor."

"I will agree." I set the bowl down with a sigh. I'm full and the warm room is making me very, very tired. I yawn before I can stop myself. "I am very sorry."

"Nonsense. What would you like to do now? You may go to bed if you so wish, and I'm sure Carlisle would recommend it, wouldn't you, dear?"

"I would."

"May I see Jacob and Alice? And I would like to see Emmett. Are they in the garden?"

"Shall I fetch them?"

"I should like to go to them, if I may." Carlisle sweeps me up in his arms before I can protest, and immediately, the dog complains. "Can he come?"

"I doubt we could stop him," Carlisle laughs, and then whistles. "Come on, Trick."

"Trick?" I ask, watching the dog follow us, tongue hanging out, almost smiling.

"He was a pain as a puppy, always hiding things. Hence, Trick."

EPOV

Trick's bark jolts me back to consciousness. I hadn't realised I'd dozed off. I wake up with ten stones of Great Dane slobbering happily all over me, and a familiar laugh. I manage to persuade Trick that I am not his new chew toy, and sit up to see Bella now perched next to Alice in a garden chair. She's wrapped in a blanket, and a cardigan, and looks more content than I've ever seen her. Trick bounds over to her happily and puts his head in her lap.

"Well, somebody's popular," I say, laughing.

"Oh, so you woke up then?" Edward teases. "So good of you to join us." Jacob has already gone over to his sister, and they're whispering in what I think is Hebrew. She embraces him, and then looks around for me.

"Emmett, I know I am once again infringing terribly upon your kindness, but I am so very tired. I think I should like very much to go to bed." I carry her upstairs and give her into Esme's care, who gets her into a nightdress and then straight into bed. She's asleep in minutes, and only then do I go into my room. I kick my shoes off, and lie down. Exhaustion sets in, and I can feel myself falling asleep. It is so very warm, and so very comfortable…


	11. Chapter 11

BPOV

I'm not sure where I am the next morning. It takes a few moments to slide into place. It's already daylight outside, but I'm not sure what time it is. There's a wardrobe, so I open it up and select a dress. It's beautiful. It's been - well, it's been years since I had a proper dress. I put it on, and then brush my hair. I look reasonably presentable. As presentable as possible. I go downstairs, and wander around, looking at everything. I can't hear anyone until I pass the open French doors. So, everyone is in the garden. It's a very beautiful day outside, and the sun is warm on my skin. Trick sees me first, and bounds up to me. He doesn't jump though - perhaps he knows he'd just knock me flying. When Emmett looks around for the dog, he smiles. He gets up immediately, and comes over to me.

"We thought you were going to stay in bed all day, sleepy-head."

"What time is it, then?"

"Twelve-thirty. You're just in time for lunch."

"Twelve-thirty?" I gasp. "But this is so rude of me! I must apologise to Esme and Carlisle, and -"

"No, Bella, there's no need," Esme says from behind us. She carrying two jugs of a pink liquid. "Home made lemonade. Cook's special. Come on, dear, and join us for some lunch. The sandwiches are on their way!"

"Mum, let me take one of those jugs for you," Emmett says, reaching for one.

"No, dear, you bring Bella along." He looks down at me and grins.

"Miss?" he says, eyes sparkling as he holds out his arm in a crook. I laugh, and slip my hand through.

"Sir." Jacob laughs when I get there, and jumps up.

"Emmett, may I have the honour of escorting the lady to her chair?"

"Certainly. Madam," Emmett says, kissing my knuckles. Jasper and Edward look at each other out of the corner of their eyes and then start howling with laughter. Jacob sits me next to Alice, and she reaches over and takes my hand. She doesn't have to say anything and I know she just means hello. It's been months since I saw her. She looks better, much better. She's put some weight back on, and there's colour in her cheeks and a faint light in her eyes. She looks better than I do. I still look skeletal and there is no colour in my cheeks. I'm still carrying the camps in my shadow.

"Hoe gaat het, schat?" she asks me, using Dutch, slipping so easily into the foreign tongue. I know she wants my response to be understandable only to Jake and her. She's giving me the chance to tell them the truth. So I do - I think I'm getting there.

"Ik ben niet zeker. Ik denk dat ik steeds beter."

EmmettPOV

She manages to eat a couple of sandwiches and drink down some lemonade. But after that, she protests against more food, and Dad lets it go, although I rather suspect that he'll be insisting on a full medical examination later on. Sure enough, as the maids clear the trays and plates, he stands up from the rug on which he's been sprawling comfortably, and turns to Bella.

"Bella, if you would permit me, I would like very much to be permitted to examine you later on - your lungs and heart, and your leg. There's also some questions that I'd like you to answer. In the mean time, are you warm enough? Quite sure? Then I suggest you young people stay out here for a while longer, while I get on. Esme, will you stay?"

"Certainly. Will you be in the study?"

"Yes - this is my day off. Fetch me if I'm needed." He retreats off the lawn, and Mum settles back onto the rug.

"So, Alice, tell us more about Holland in the summer time." She smiles warmly at Bella. "Alice was telling us about Amsterdam in summer."

"No, I have told this many times, and Bella knows of it. I shall tell the story of Hans Sneeman and the wooden bowl." Alice settles back. "Once, a poor woodsman lived alone in a cabin, deep in the heart of a forest. He had but a very little, and was poor indeed - owning simple wooden table, the chair, the bed and wooden bowl and spoon, all carved by hands his own. This was all, but enough it was. One night, in hard winter time, he had made himself thin vegetable soups. It was all he had in the weather of the frost. A knock came at the door, as he was prepare to eat, and he got up to answer it. An old woman it was, hunched and dressed in only a clutch of ragged. She begged only that he give her food, and shelter for the night. Hans looked at the woman, and looked at his bowl of soup. Hans gave her the soup, and gave up his bed, sleeping that night upon the wood floor.

In the morning, he arose to find the mystery stranger vanished, wooden bowl and spoon washed and placed upon the table. Three days passed, and Hans was working in the woods, in bad snow, to gather wood for a fire to warm himself. Sudden, a beautiful lady appears. She told Hans that she, the good witch, was the old woman he had helped those nights past. She said that in repay for his kind act, he would never want for anything again.

The lady was corrects, and Hans became rich, and comfortable. But for the remainder of his years, he eat his food from wooden bowl with wooden spoon, to remind him of how poor he was, and how we must be humble in deed."

We're all quiet when Alice has finished. Despite her queer, broken English, the little story is pretty and she tells it well. It follows typical folk-tale lines, but is a different sort of tale to those Mum used to tell the three of us when we were children.

"It is beautiful story, Alice, you tell it well. Perhaps, you know others? You can tell us other story?" Bella asks, quietly. She sounds very tired, however, and Esme notices it at once.

"Bella, darling, are you tired?"

"It is but a little fatigue, Esme, pray do not worry." If she thinks Mum will be satisfied with that, she is mistaken. She's going into mother hen mode already.

"If you are tired, you ought to be in bed, Bella."

"No, truly, I am alright. I wish to impose no trouble upon you."

"What nonsense. It'll be a great deal more trouble if you get ill." Jasper gets to his feet, excusing himself. I know where he's going and I follow him, leaving Mum to argue with Bella.

I wait until we're safely inside before I grab his arm to stop him.

"Emmett, don't try stopping me. Dad'll make her see some sense, she still needs rest."

"I'm sure he will, but forcing her to go? That'll do no good."

"What won't do anyone any good?" Dad himself appears on the scene.

"It's Bella. She's tired, but is refusing to go to bed."

"If she's tired, why didn't she say?" he asks, worry creasing his brow.

"She said she didn't want to impose, or cause trouble."

"She's become so used to hiding when she is tired or ill that she defends against everything now. Dad, we can't force her to go to bed. She needs to learn what's best for her herself. She needs to learn to trust us."

"I thought -"

"Come on, Jasper, look at her. She trusts nobody, she lets nobody in. She's built a wall around herself, to keep herself safe. She's learnt not to trust, now she has to learn to trust. That will take time, and if we insist upon knowing what's best for her, she isn't going to learn to trust us. She'll see it as a method of control and that is the quickest way to ensure she puts those walls up."

"Emmett has a point. Jasper, go back and tell your mother - quietly, mind - that if Bella doesn't want to go, she doesn't have to. Then ask Bella to come to me for that exam at three, but she's welcome to come sooner if she wants - she can make her choice about it. Emmett, my lad, you just go into my study and wait for me in there."

He sits himself down and looks at me for a long, cool minute. Finally, he sits back and smiles at me.

"Emmett, have you ever considered going medicine?"

"I'm not clever enough to do medicine."

"Actually, Emmett, you did very well in your Higher Certificate. Better than Edward, although we won't tell him that. You're qualified to do it."

"Really?"

"Really. Your problem, I think, is confidence. You don't believe you're good enough. But today, about Bella? You showed damn good instincts. A good doctor needs good instincts."

"But that wasn't medical -"

"Perhaps not medical knowledge, no, but you identified that forcing Bella to go to bed would be more likely to upset her than cure her. You then took steps to stop it from happening, you made the case for it, and presented it very well. I think you'd do very well in medicine. You may want to consider it. I think you could be a good doctor."

"Really? You think I could do it?"

"It'd mean damn hard work. But yes, I do think you could do it."

"I never thought about it."

"Maybe, Emmett, you should start thinking about it. You'll need a way to support a family one day."

"No plans for that yet, Dad."

"Maybe not now, no. But one day, you might just change your mind. There's an awfully good reason for changing it right outside on the lawn. I see the way you look at her. Maybe you should think about a lot of things. A career, yes - but also what she means to you. Work that out, and then most of the questions tend to answer themselves. Take this letter to your mother, will you?"

I hand the letter over to Esme, then murmur an excuse. I go up to my room and go over to the window. I can see them all from here. I see a light breeze take Bella short hair and ruffle it gently, see Alice take her hand, say something, see Bella nod in response, see Jacob bend over her to ask something else. Edward and Jasper start arguing about something, you can tell by their body language, and Bella sits back in her chair and tilts her head to the sky.

What happens next?


	12. Chapter 12

EPOV

Bella has been here for some months now. She's not quite blooming, but Esme says that "the flower is budding", which I think means that she is getting there. Her slow recovery is concerning Carlisle, but even he is beginning to hope for her. Certainly she looks better than she did. It is the morning of the 7th August 1945. Carlisle has been in his study for over half an hour, on the telephone to London. Esme is arranging flowers from the garden into vases in the girl's rooms. Everyone else is gathered in the garden, drinking orange juice and laughing. Bella does not laugh much yet, but a smile is being seen more frequently. It has become my goal to see that smile as much as possible.

"Everyone!" shouts a voice suddenly, breaking into my perusal of the sky. I sit up, and see Carlisle running full pelt across the lawn. "The Americans have dropped an atomic bomb on Hiroshima in Japan."

"An atomic bomb?" Bella asks, frowning.

"It's a bomb that using atomic energy, radiation, nuclear weaponry. It is the most powerful bomb ever made. And it is a killer. What the hell is the US playing at?" Jasper demands, his face flushed with anger.

"Jasper, remain calm," Carlisle warns, his eyes slipping to Bella, still easily frightened by temper or shouting.

"I will not remain calm. That is insanity, is there any word on the effect yet?"

"Apart from the fact that they think over 10,000 would have been killed by it -"

"What sort of human," Bella says, "would make a weapon that can kill tens of thousands of people in one hit? What kind of monster is required for this madness?"

"Bella, it's going to be OK. Look at me," I say, drawing her face round to mine. She is sheet-white, and panic is in her eyes. "Keep calm. Jasper, either calm down, or step away."

"Emmett, I am fine, stop fussing so. I mean it," she adds, pushing me away with some force. "Carlisle, what will happen? Japan will surrender?"

"It is most likely."

"I suppose it would be. You cannot fight a war with bombs like that, everyone would die on the first day of war. This will stop it. This will be enough to stop this hell from ever happening again."

Two days later, the Americans dropped a second bomb on Nagasaki. Jasper can barely contain his fury. But Bella sees further than the sheer hell of it, and reads the papers with a practiced eye. This is a girl who is used to keeping well up with public affairs, and who knows what goes on and where. By August 15th, the Japanese have announced their surrender.

I go up to my room after lunch, tired and pleading a headache. At 2pm, there is a knock on the door.

"Come in." I expect to see Esme, or Carlisle. But Bella slips around the door. She's taken off the light cardigan she had been wearing. "You've put some weight on."

"It is, as you would say, I think, about time?"

"Something like that."

"Are you alright? You never get headache, not in all the time I have known you."

"Well that isn't true."

"You have headache because you are worried?"

"Yes."

"This you have had before?"

"Yes. While you were so ill in Berlin - I feared I'd lose you then. I have a hell of a headache."

"What is wrong now?"

"I don't know. I'm worried about America and the Russian States. There is a risk. It may become more serious later."

"You think a problem?"

"I don't know. It's a feeling. Capitalism and Communism are very different things. Do me a favour - don't mention this to anyone. I'll probably be wrong."

"I will not. Shall I leave you?"

"No, you can stay for a bit if you like." I turn over onto my side, and survey her. "There's some colour in your cheeks now."

"Are you going to list all the improvements?" she says, smiling at me. I smile back.

"Yes. They suit you. And your hair is growing." It touches her shoulders now, just about. It's already starting to curl. Alice has decided to keep her hair short. "That's good too."

"Yes. Always, I have had long hair. I am glad to have it long once more. It used to be very much longer than this. I hope to grow it to that length."

"How long was it?"

"It was just here," she says, softly. She touches her back just above where it curves. "I cannot reach properly. It was longer."

"Was it closer to here?" I say, putting my fingertips to her spine. She jumps a little, but doesn't move away from my touch.

"Yes," she murmurs. It's very quiet suddenly. I'm vaguely aware of Trick barking somewhere in the garden. "Emmett," she breathes, almost inaudibly.

"Yes?"

"I don't know."

I take my chance, and I kiss her. She's soft and warm, and I slide my hand behind her neck, twining my fingers in her hair. She kisses me back, her intake of breath sharp and yielding. She puts her hands on my arms, holding me in place but stopping me from coming in further. It's her who pulls back first, leaving the room before I have a chance to say anything beyond put out my hand for her.

BPOV

I leave the room with his kiss burning on my lips. My stomach is jumping, my hands shaking. I realise that I'm nervous. Nervous; nervous about a kiss. Everything I've been through, everything I've seen and his kiss makes me nervous. I go downstairs to find Esme, to help her with the sewing.

"Hello, darling. Have you just come from Emmett? How is he?"

"He said he just has an headache. I think he means to sleep?"

"Alright then. Shall we go into the garden?"

I spend the rest of the afternoon sewing the hem of a dress Esme has been altering for Alice. Emmett doesn't come back, and Carlisle informs us that he's sleeping. I don't believe a word of it, and I contemplate going in before I go to bed. I actually stand outside his door, and raise my hand to knock. But something stops me, and I go back into my own room. Alice comes in to show me the dress, and she notices at once that something is on my mind. We speak in English more and more whilst we're alone, practising on each other.

"Bella, what is troubling you?"

"Nothing is troubling me - not in the sense of trouble."

"Then - I do not understand. Why do you look so worried?"

"If I look worried, then I am looking wrong. If I tell you something, you will tell nobody? Not even Jasper."

"Not even Jacob?"

"Most certainly not Jacob. I - that is to say, Emmett and I - we kissed."

"You kissed?"

"_Kuste." _Her eyes widen, and she smiles.

"What happened?"

"We were talking - I was showing him how long my hair used to be. And then, I do not know how, we were kissing."

"Why does this bother you?"

"I do not know how I feel. I am nervous - to see him again, and because in my heart - I know that I want him to kiss me again."

"That is not a bad thing."

"I must go to the synagogue tomorrow, and see the rabbi. He will know what I am to do."

"For what it is worth, Bella, I think that this is a good thing. You have only to look at Emmett, look at the way he looks at you, and you can see he cares."

"Thank you Alice. I will make sure of what I may do."


	13. Chapter 13

BPOV

I excuse myself after breakfast, and say I am going out for a time. I walk down to the synagogue, enjoying the feel of the sun on my skin. It is another hot day. People greet me, they are beginning to get to know me. I like that, the fact that they are beginning to get to know me - it feels like I once more belong to a community and part of something that cares. I go into the synagogue and immediately seek out the rabbi, who is in his office.

"Isabella, it is good to see you again. And look at this - the young blossom may be blooming late, but you bloom very well, my child." His German accent is still thick despite having fled to England before the war.

"_Danke_, Rabbi," I say, bowing my head for his blessing. "Rabbi, I come to you - there is trouble in my head and I am greatly conflicted."

"Sit down my child. Tell me what this trouble is."

"I believe I am falling in love."

"What do you need my advice for? Love is a most wonderful thing."

"He is Christian, father. The son of the man who has taken me in - I believe I may love him."

"My child, in your heart, do you care? Do you care that he is not Jewish?"

"No, Rabbi, I do not. He has done so much for me, and I care greatly for him but not for his religion."

"My job is to advise you spiritually. My task is to guide you toward God, to help you keep your faith, and to pray for you. My task is not to deter you from your true love, if that love will not take you from the path of God and right. Will falling in love with him prevent you from keeping your faith?" "Never."

"Then, as your Rabbi, I can advise you only to be sure that you love him, and to be certain to keep your faith close. If loving him will not close your eyes to God then you have my blessing, my child. Nothing in Scripture dictates against you falling in love with him."

"What does Scripture say about marriage, Rabbi?"

"You know that, Isabella, in your heart. If you both decide that you wish to be married, then we can discuss where the marriage will be - you will have to decide if you want a Christian wedding, or a Jewish ceremony. Regardless of where, as long as you keep hold of your faith, and your belief, God will still take you into His arms. You are still His child, Isabella, as you will always be mine. I hope that this has resolved your trouble."

"Yes, Rabbi, and I thank you most warmly. I am at greater ease now, and I can understand."

"My door is always open to you, Isabella: I pray that you never forget that."

"I would never, Rabbi." I accept his blessing and begin my walk home.

I help Esme with sewing again, later in the afternoon.

"Bella, my darling, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, Esme," I say, looking up in surprise.

"Where were you this morning?"

"I went to the synagogue. To see the rabbi. To ask him some questions that I felt I needed to."

"Would these questions pertain to Emmett?"

EsmePOV

She goes redder than a carnation. Did they both honestly think that I hadn't noticed?

"They did," she murmurs, picking her sewing back up although her hands remain still. "Things had to be - examined."

"Did you get the answers you sought?"

"Yes."

"Were they good?" The smile she exhibits is big and wide. Suddenly, her beauty strikes me, the full prettiness of the eighteen year old girl she is, is conveyed through that dazzling smile. For the first time she looks her age.

"They were good," she says, softly. She meets my eyes. "Esme, I am not doing this with tradition. But then, little has been traditional recently. After the war - when I got out of that camp, when I was in the hospital, even when I got here - I expected hoards of Nazi's to come through the door, drag me away and torture me. I did not allow myself to even hope that it was truly over. When Emmett stayed with me, even in the hospital, when you gave me a home, I could not believe that I would be able to stay. I have been in fear for so long. I did not know how to hope, hope was not something you could hold in the camps. If you allowed hope in, hope would destroy you because nothing ever came of hope. I could handle brutal torture, death. But hope - no. I could not allow hope in. For such a long time, hope was not a friend. Now, here in England, with you, your husband, and the kindness you have shown, I have allowed myself to begin to hope again.

"My point is this - I believe that when I let in hope, I also allowed in love. I suppose I am requesting that - no - I am asking for your blessing." She meets my eyes. I'm shaking, I realise. I reach over to her take her hands in mine. She's never spoken about the war, about the camps, about the hell she endured. And now, finally she talks about it - and asks me for my permission to fall in love with my son.

"Bella, my darling, all my sons have very sensible and wise heads on their shoulders. And even in the short time I have known you, I have come to realise that you share it. And I would never presume to stand between you and Emmett. I've seen perfectly well how he looks at you - and how you look at him in return." She blushes again. "There's something else troubling you."

"How do I tell him how I am feeling?"

"I'm quite sure he has the same dilemma, my dear. Emmett, for all his merits, is not a subtle man. He'll respond much better to you simply telling him how you feel." She looks at me with something akin to horror.

"Oh, _no," _she gasps. "I could never do that!"

"Yes you could. I'm not going to push you. But these things don't go away if you just ignore them. They do tend to haunt you. You have to make your own choices, Bella, but don't try and push him away. And don't let him push you away either. If you think that this is real, and good - then you fight for it with everything. True love only comes around once."

"Like for you and Carlisle?"

"Like me and Carlisle, yes. Bella, only once do we meet the person we're destined to spend our lives with. You can't miss the chance - or you'll spend the rest of your life regretting it." She nods slowly. A cheerful shouted greeting cuts across the sudden quiet, and Jasper and Alice come out to join us. Trick drapes himself at Bella's feet, and licks the hand she puts down to him to rub his ears by ways of a hello.

"Mama, I just got back from the town. The school here have offered me a full time position - mixed comprehensive, range of ages, and all the periods."

"You aren't going to return to London?"

"No, Mama. I'll stay here now." I smile at him, and he bends down to kiss me.

"That's good, Jasper. That's good."

"Excuse me, Esme. Carlisle asked to see me before lunch. I think I shall go now, and see if he is free."

BPOV

They're such a happy family. Carlisle examines me again.

"You've put weight on, my Bella. And you sound healthier. Are the headaches getting better?"

"Less frequent, and less intense."

"That's good. So, when are you going to tell my son that you love him?"

"Am I truly this transparent?"

"Yes, yes you are. He is too, of course."

"Carlisle, I do not know. This is the first time I have felt this way. I love Alice, and Jacob - but what I feel for Emmett is something different. I cannot tell him. I don't understand, and so I cannot tell him. I could not hurt him, if it turned out that I cannot love him. I must wait."


	14. Chapter 14

BPOV

On September 1st, 1945, I get a letter from Switzerland. I do not recognize the handwriting on the letter. We are mid-way through preparing for Jacob's eighteenth birthday on the fifth, the first celebration since the liberation. It's been forwarded by the Red Cross.

_Miss Isabella Cohen _

_I am not sure if you will remember me or not. My name is Rosalie, and I am your cousin on your father's side, once removed. I met you once when you were just a little girl, and your brother Jacob barely older than a baby. I have received notification, after months and months of searching, that your father is dead, but that you and Jacob have survived. My grief for my cousin is great, but I am also relieved that you are alive. The Red Cross has agreed to forward on this letter. _

_I myself was in a camp. I ask to meet you, that we may talk, and keep our remaining family close by. I have taken a house in Portsmouth, which I believe is not so very far from where you are now living. By the time this letter reaches you, I will have moved there. I have enclosed the address, perhaps you could visit me. I have a son, about your age. He survived, but is much changed. I don't expect you should remember him much either. _

_I hope to see you again, Isabella. _

_Rosalie Fritz-Hale._

I get up immediately, and seek out Jacob.

"Do you remember our cousin Rosalie?" I ask him.

"I don't think so."

"I had a letter from her this morning. She has moved to England. She wants me to visit her."

"Will you go?"

"Yes, I will. I must tell her about father, and mother. You don't have to come with me."

"I can't, Bella. I'm sorry."

"No, darling, do not be."

"I can not hear it all again."

"Jacob, come here to me. You have to do nothing you do not want to. I will go. After your birthday."

Emmett volunteers to drive me to Portsmouth, but it's Jasper who ends up taking me. I put on my best dress, and a hat. I even manage to pin up my hair. The house I step up to is pretty, small and cottage in style. I ring the bell, and a young man opens it.

"Can I help?" He is English, and I assume he is someone from the town.

"My name is Isabella Cohen. I am cousin to Mrs Fritz-Hale."

"Ah yes, I believe you have been expected. Come with me."

"You are a friend?"

"I come in to help out. Mrs Fritz-Hale is frail, and with her son, she requires some extra help." He looks at me as he takes my hat and coat. "Were you in a camp too?"

"Yes, I was."

"I read about it. In the newspapers, and on the television. Surely -"

"Young man, I can assure you, that everything they reported was true. And that was not half of it. I am sure, many more atrocities will be revealed."

"I am sorry, for your suffering, Miss."

"At least I survived. My cousin?"

"In here." He opens a door, says a few words, then allows me inside. He takes Jasper off with him, who says he'll be ready to leave whenever I am.

"Isabella. You look like your father."

"Cousin Rosalie."

"My child, call me Rose. Come closer, sit beside me." I sit down. "Your hair is shorter."

"They cut it Auschwitz."

"Yes, mine also." There is an uncomfortable pause. "My cousin is dead, is he not?"

"Yes. I wish I could tell you that they had made a mistake, but it is certain. He died in Auschwitz, but we are not sure how. They think it might have been the gas chambers. Even Jacob doesn't know."

"He was with your father?"

"Yes. Jacob does not like to talk about the camps. He is trying to block it away I think. He says he does not know how father died. I believe him."

"What about your mother? Your baby sister?"

"No. They took Becky at the start. Right away, right off the train, they took her from me. Mother refused to leave her, so they took her too. They went to the gas chambers. I did not even get a chance to say goodbye."

"They took my husband. In Auschwitz. You knew he was sick? He couldn't work, so they took him. We have lost people in that terrible, terrible place, you and I. I no longer even recognize my own son. That place may as well have killed him. Doesn't even leave his bedroom now. Would you like to see him?"

"Would he like me to?"

"He has been talking about it since I found you were alive. I think he would like to see that there is life for a young person afterwards. Especially life for a beautiful young girl."

I'm introduced to a shell of a man, who seems to look right through me. His eyes are empty, haunted, and his voice, when he talks, is dry and cracked.

"I'll leave you two. Darling, all you need to do is call if you need me."

"Yes, mother."

"I do not suppose you remember me very well. We met once, when we were children. I admit that I do not remember you well."

"Your name?"

"Isabella. Isabella Cohen. I am your first cousin, twice removed."

"James."

"It is good to see you, James."

"Why have you come?"

"Your mother invited me. My father was her cousin, and when she'd found that he'd died, she invited me to visit, to talk."

"You lost your father."

"Yes, in Auschwitz. I do not know how he died."

"I am sorry."

"My mother too, and my baby sister. My brother - my brother and I are all that's left. Now I have found you and your mother."

"Quite."

"Is this all you do all day? Sit in your room, pitying yourself? You suffered, just like your mother, me, my brother. But we lived. So now we have to start. What if we all did this? Sat in our rooms, staring into space, refusing to talk. I understand that you saw terrible things, had terrible things done to you. So did we all. But what does all this do?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"I mean we need to live."

I make my excuses to go, and Jasper drives me home.

"He was just sitting there, not talking in sentence, he did not care about anything. Why survive something like what we survived, and then spend your life closed in your bedroom?"

"Bella, you're the exception to survival, not the rule. I feel some days, after what I saw, that I could sit in my room and cry about it. It's not easy to get up every day, and you know that. Just because you manage to find the strength to get up every day, doesn't mean everybody can."

"Jacob does it, and he is still just a child -"

"Oh, Bella, Jacob isn't a child now. He can't be. Just like you aren't eighteen, not really. You've had to grow up, and so has he. Maybe James isn't ready to accept everything just yet."

"Alice is lucky."

"What?"

"You think I have not seen how you two look at each other? Tell her. Like I said - now we have to live."


	15. Chapter 15

BPOV

A trip out is organised for when the summer temperature finally moderates itself. It's been brutally hot recently, day after day of blazing sunshine. It's been doing Alice the world of good, but summer heat has always dragged me down. Carlisle examined me when I complained of a headache, and confined me to going out only in the early morning and late evenings, spending the day itself in the cooler salon. But the second the mercury drops to below twenty, Carlisle orders Emmett and Jasper to take us into town.

"Hats on, girls. Cooler it may certainly be, but the sun is still out. I don't want to have to deal with any cases of sunstroke. Jacob, are you going with them, or are you going to stay here with Esme?"

"I will stay, I think. The girls haven't seen the town yet, but I have." I poke him in the ribs before we leave.

"I know what you're doing," I whisper.

"Then trot along and enjoy it." I content myself with a second jab before going to my room to seek my hat and gloves, and to put on my shoes. Emmett knocks, demanding to know if I am ready yet.

"But yes, Emmett. Shall I need a coat, do you think?"

"No, I shouldn't think you'll need a coat - it's not cold out. There's a bit of a breeze." I go back into my room, leaving the door open behind me. I pick out a wrap, light enough not to make me too hot, but enough to stave off any errant breezes. "Yes, very pretty. Now come on, or we'll never get seated."

"Where then, are we going?" I ask, as we join Alice and Jasper. Alice is dressed as I am, and she takes Jasper's arm with an adoring smile at him. I wonder if he's told her yet. I must talk to him about it.

"A tea-house I know, looking out over the bay. They do brilliant cakes there, and Mum and Dad said we could have our tea there and walk back in time for supper. It's only ten minutes walk, twenty if we go over the moors. But I'm not going back that way today, Bella, so don't ask me. We'll come back by the path, and we can tackle the moors another time."

"I was not going to ask," I say, amused.

"Sure you weren't. Look, that's the rock they say is haunted by a woman who got lost and died on these moors looking for it, to meet her lover. They planned to elope. The story goes that she set out onto the moors, but mists came and she got lost. They say the Beast got her."

"A Beast?"

"The Beast of Bodmin Moor," Jasper says, trying to be spooky. Alice laughs.

"Tell us the story, Jasper."

"Well, if you believe the legends, there is a Beast on the moors. Some kind of giant cat, a panther. Black as night, eyes red like the Devil. Sheep turn up, carcass stripped clean to the bone, every piece of flesh removed, organs gone. So that means some people say that the Beast is more man than panther. A monster who prowls the moor, who takes those who get lost, and kills them."

"Do you believe it?" I ask, curious.

"Well, I've found a couple of the sheep. No animal I've ever come across kills like that, and definitely not panthers. There's something on those moors."

"Well, I think it is but rumour, myth and an old wife tale."

"It is frightening, though," Alice says, drawing herself closer to Jasper. He holds her hand into the crook of his arm, and she sends him that smile again. Emmett and I exchange glances. I can see right through her. She's not frightened in the least, but she plays a damsel in distress very well. Whether Jasper believes her fear or not, he goes all protecting and knight in shining armour over her. Emmett laughs, and a little bit of lingering fear leaves my heart.

"Well, I agree with Bella. It's all nonsense. There's no animal, part human or otherwise, on these moors. Just the mist and the legends. Ah, we can see the tea-house. Do you see, Bella? The little yellow building."

"I see it."

We go inside, are greeted by a pretty girl in a white blouse and black skirt. She seats us at a table for four. Alice and I sit first, then the boys take their seats. Emmett sits by me, and Jasper takes his seat next to Alice - moving his chair closer to her under the guise of pushing his chair in further towards the table. I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes. I can't take any more of this.

"Jasper, have you spoken to Alice about what we spoke about?"

"Bella, are you interfering?" Emmett asks me.

"Not at all. So, Jasper?"

"Bella."

"Alice, has Jasper had any conversations with you recently?"

"Some, but what about?"

"About taking you out for dinner, perhaps."

"No."

"Now is a good time, Jasper, no?"

"Bella, I am going to shove you over a cliff on the way home, now come along with me and collect the tea." Emmett yanks me up, and puts an arm around my waist. "You are something else, you are."

"What? They were going in the direction, I have simply nudged them closer to it."

"No, what you're doing is tampering."

"Look over there, Emmett. What do you see?"

"I see my brother and your best friend blushing wildly."

"And holding hands under table. You can admit you are wrong later on."

"Take the tray."

We've rejoined the new young lovers, and have ordered cakes when we are interrupted by a young man that Emmett and Jasper seem to know.

"Cullen?"

"Andrews?"

"I thought it was you! My sister and I are staying with our aunt here. We heard this place was good, thought we'd try it. Jasper, you remember Annie - she was in your year?"

"I do. Good to see you again, Dingbat."

"And you, Dogbreath. Aren't you going to introduce us?"

"This is Alice Gluck, and Isabella Cohen."

"I'm Annie Andrews. I was at school with Jasper and Emmett, before the war."

"We met - during the war."

"I'm Alex Andrews, by the way, as my sister didn't seem to feel the need to introduce me. Good to see you again, boys, good to meet you girls."

"And also you."

"You're not English?"

"Dutch, Alice and I were born in Amsterdam."

"And you met the boys there?"

"No," I'm trying to make it obvious that I have no wish to talk about it.

"Alex, for goodness sake -" Annie hisses, pulling her brothers arm.

"So how did you meet then?"

"Alex, you have got to be the most tactless bastard I have ever met, please will you shut up." Emmett growls.

"No, he can ask. People do, we can't keep making excuses, eventually truth comes out. Mr Andrews, Emmett and his brothers were part of the British Army group who liberated Alice and I from Bergen-Belsen concentration camp in Germany. He saved our lives - especially mine."

"I read about that in the papers. All majorly over exaggerated." Annie looks like she's going explode with redness. I can feel pure rage bubbling up in my heart.

"Mr Andrews, you may say what you like in private. But I can assure you that what was in the papers was no exaggeration. If anything, they softened a great many details. Would you like me to tell you what pain and death and deprivation and violence looks like? Would you like me to describe what it looks like when a Nazi guard beats a woman to death for tripping? I can show you the scars on my back from whippings, beatings and kicking. This scar, on my leg? It was a wound that you wouldn't think twice about. It was allowed to fester, and it nearly killed me. Ask Emmett what septicaemia looks like when it is days away from killing somebody. Ask Emmett, or Edward, or Jasper, what the smell of human waste and decaying corpses is like. But kindly never speak to me again. Would you all excuse me?"

EPOV

I contemplate throttling him, but Jasper's already squaring up. I go after Bella instead.

"Bella, wait!"

"Leave me alone, Emmett!" Her voice is high and shrill. I grab hold of her, pull her back. She bumps into my chest, and pushes away. "Let go of me!"

"If I let you go, you're just going to go raging off in an area you don't know. You're going to get lost and probably hurt, and then my father will strangle me. So no, I'm not letting go. Look, you have to let me explain."

"Explain? What could you say to me now that would make what he said even slightly alright?"

"Look, Andy is tactless at best, but a complete and utter idiot is closer to it. He doesn't think before he opens his mouth."

"It is not just him, you know that. This is what people think about the camps. That people like Alice, and I, and you and your brothers, are liars and fakes. That all we want is some attention. And I cannot live that through."

"Bella, listen. Once, yes, that might have been what people thought. But that's dying now. It's coming out. The Nuremburg trials will be starting soon, the evidence is starting to emerge. And the people like me and my brothers and you and Alice will tell the truth forever because we saw it." She goes limp suddenly, I hear her exhale on a painful gasp. I wrap my arms around her, hold her until she stops trembling. She turns up her face to me, and a smile quivers on her lips.

"Emmett, can I ask you to do something for me?"

"Anything."

"Will you kiss me?" I look at her for only a minute. Then I cup her face in my hands, and kiss her, just as she asked. "Don't let go, Emmett," she whispers.

"Never."


	16. Chapter 16

EPOV

As if there was ever another way, I ask my mother to come into town with me the very next day. She agrees, and when I tell her what we're going for, her eyes light up. But first, before anything is arranged or decided on, I ask Jacob if I can speak to him privately. He agrees, and we go into the garden. Bella has been tired today, and my father insisted she remain in bed for the morning. He doesn't think anything is wrong, but for now, especially for Bella, there must be as little exertion as possible. So, if she is tired, she must rest, regardless of how much she might protest. He compromised, saying that if she felt better after lunch she may get up, but only if getting up involves her sitting in a chair in the shade of the garden. But it's still not eleven, so Alice is sitting with her. I think they're doing a big, complicated jigsaw together. Jacob sits down in a chair, and I take the one in front of him.

"What have you to discuss?" he asks, his voice still as accented as Bella's, despite some months in England. September is drawing to a close now.

"It is not to discuss, but I have a question to ask you."

"I see," he says, nodding slowly. He surveys me thoughtfully. I clear my throat a little, and fidget about.

"I'm not entirely sure how to go about beginning."

"Perhaps, then, you should simply ask the question you have to ask, rather than spending time trying to introduce it." His eyes are gleaming, and I'm pretty sure he's guessed anyway. I clear my throat again, and blurt it out.

"I'd like to ask for your permission. I'd like to ask your sister to marry me, and I want your blessing to do so." He sits back in his chair, and his sweeping look this time is contemplative.

"You've only known her six months."

"I barely knew her three days before I decided that she is the bravest woman I've ever met. I realised I loved her the day you found her. I didn't need six months."

"It should be my father that you ask this of. Not me."

"I know. But I wanted to do this right, and my father said that as I couldn't ask her father, I should come to you, as her closest male relative."

"Does she know this is your intention?"

"She does not. I intend to surprise her tonight. My mother and I are going to chose the ring, you'd be more than welcome to come with us." He gets to his feet, and holds out his hand, grinning.

"Then, we had best be making haste. You have a ring to buy."

"You give me your permission?" I ask, getting up, wanting to make absolutely certain. His smile broadens.

" I give you my permission, as Isabella's brother, to ask my sister for her hand in marriage." We shake hands, and I grin back at him.

"Thank you, Jacob. It means a great deal to me."

He, my mother, and I spend a happy day in town, looking in the windows of various jewellers. Finally, I spot one that we all agree is just perfect for Bella. It's simple, shaped like a star - although Mother thinks it's more a flowery shape - with a central diamond and smaller ones clustered around it. The band is gold.

"Can you afford it?" Jacob asks, looking a bit breathless at the price asked.

"Yes. Come on." We go inside, and the assistant is only too happy to help, placing the ring in a pretty box and wishing me a happy marriage and good luck. When we get back to the house, she's relocated from the house to the garden, and I decide to wait until after dinner to ask her.

Bella lets Dad take her into the study to look her over when he gets back from house calls before dinner. She had been up, but only to sit in the lounge and knit and chatter with Alice. I help Mother set up the dinner table and then help her carry the food in. We're still rationed, but apparently Mother has considered this a valid occasion to use either all her extensive charm or a lot of ration coupons to get some veal. There are vegetables from the garden, Cook's speciality gravy and there are even Yorkshire puddings.

"What's the occasion"? Jasper demands, sitting down after Bella has said Grace. We never particularly went in for it - I can't remember the last time I even set foot in a church, but Bella holds her faith close, and she says the simple blessing more for them than us, although nobody has ever objected.

"No occasion," Mum says, innocently. "Does there need to be an occasion?"

"Well, I suppose not. It's very nice."

"It's delicious," Bella says, smiling. For the first time, she finishes all of her dinner and even manages a slice of cake. Dad nods approvingly, but doesn't say anything to her. It's nearly sunset when we finish dinner, and Dad submits to Mum's suggestion that Bella go outside and sit on the lawn until it has set, as so far, she hasn't been outside. He insists Bella puts on a cardigan and allow him to tuck a rug about her legs, but doesn't make any other protests. Trick slumps right at Bella's feet, and I sigh. He would pick right there. Oh well, he'll just have to move. Either Mum or Jacob has warned the others, or they genuinely don't want to come outside, because it ends up just being me and Bella. I'm going with the they were warned theory, as I can see various figures standing in the window of the lounge, probably all straining their ears to hear each and every word. Bella gets comfortable, and tips her head back, looking over the trees to see the orange sky. I couldn't have possibly picked a better time. I pat my pocket, make sure the box is still there. I nudge Trick away, and get down on one knee. Obviously the movement of Trick distracts her from the sky, because she looks down, and then gasps.

"Emmett!" I open the ring box and extend it up to her. Her eyes widen.

"OK, don't interrupt, it might take me a while to get this out right. I did this properly, asked Jacob's permission and everything. I know I haven't known you very long, but I want you to know that I have known I loved you from almost the very start, and now I want that to be official. I want to take care of you and I want us to have our lives together. Isabella - will you marry me?" There is a rather horrible silence, in which she gazes at me with her mouth a little open, obvious shock on her face. Then a brilliant, slow smile spreads across her face, her wonderful eyes light up and she holds her hand out.

"Yes," she says, very softly. "I will marry you - nothing would make me happier than to have you as my husband." I fumble getting the ring out of its bed of satin, and drop the box, pick it up, and finally manage to slide the ring onto her fourth finger. She smiles at me, and admires the ring, angling it to catch the last rays of sunshine. "It's beautiful."

"I know. I bought it because its just like you - beautiful, precious and unique." She blushes.

"Hush. You could charm the birds from the air if you chose." She leans forward in her chair, and kisses me gently. I respond, sliding my hands into her hair and feel her smile curve under my lips. "I cannot wait to be your wife," she whispers, when we break apart.

"I can't wait for you to be my wife," I reply, resting my forehead on hers and exhaling on a sigh. "Thank God you said yes," I mutter, and she giggles.

"I would never have said anything else." I get to my feet, and hold out my hand to her.

"Come on. We have to go back inside, I'm sure they're all bursting to know what you said. Besides, the sun's gone now, and Dad would want you back in." She lets me help her to her feet, and tucks her arm through mine, looking up at me with a glittering smile.

"Better not keep them waiting, one would not want them to burst."

"We'll have some time," I promise her. "I'll take you out for a day on the beach, and we can have some time alone." She squeezes my arm in agreement, but hasn't time to respond, because almost before we're in the house, my mother sets on us and snatches up Bella's hand. She inspects the ring and smiles, kissing her warmly. Dad smiles too, taking her into his arms while I get several handshakes and some backslapping from my brothers and Jacob. Alice kisses my cheek and embraces Bella enthusiastically.

"I'm so very happy for you both."

"I'm very happy too," Bella says, beaming at me. Mum actually starts tearing up at that, and I swallow the lump in my throat manfully.

"So am I. The most beautiful girl agreed to be my wife." I spy Jasper miming being sick behind Dad. Hmm. I'll get him later.

"So, you two, have you thought up a date?" Mum asks, Alice bobbing eagerly at her shoulder. Bella and I look at each other.

"We hadn't really discussed that. Perhaps next summer?"

"A long engagement!"

"Well, a winter wedding doesn't appeal to me - does it to you, darling?" I ask Bella.

"No, I'd like a summer wedding. We could have an outdoor reception."

"A year it is. Oh, a wedding!" Mum actually claps her hands with excitement. "There's so much to plan. The dress, the guests, the venue, the cake, the suits - goodness!" Bella allows my mother and Alice to drag her off into the drawing room, no doubt to talk about that long list of things and make decisions about that long list of things, while Dad pours some of the good brandy as a 'small celebration' of my good news.

"Well, the first of my sons to get married." He raises his glass. "May you know all the happiness that I've been fortunate enough to find with your mother."

"I'll drink to that," Jacob says, smiling at me. "But as her brother, God help you if you hurt her."

"Message received," I say, chuckling with the rest of them. "But you have no need to fear of that. I'll protect her forever, and I'll never hurt her nor allow her to be hurt."

"Good," he says, smiling, extending a hand. "Brother."

"Brother," I say, grinning. A year seems a long time to wait for her to be my wife, but if that's how long I need to wait, then so be it.

BPOV

Alice and Esme are wildly excited, and they bear me off to the drawing room, where Esme pours us each a glass of wine.

"It's a special occasion!" she giggles, when Alice mildly half-protests. "And it's only one glass." Alice takes it and sips, smiling at me.

"I can't believe you're engaged. Let me see the ring again!" I extend my hand, and both she and Esme fuss over it. "It's so beautiful and you're so lucky."

"Well, you'll probably be next," Esme remarks over the top of her wine glass. Alice blushes, and busies herself with arranging her skirt. Esme is tactful enough not to push the issue, instead turning back to me. "A summer wedding then? Perhaps July?"

"I thought August - a higher chance of nicer weather."

"Perhaps it would be a little too hot?"

"Not if we have the ceremony in the afternoon. The reception could then be in the later afternoon, and the evening, and it would be cooler."

"A good idea! You could have the reception here, in the garden."

"Thank you," I say, quietly. "I know that that would mean a very great deal to Emmett, and as indeed it does to me." Esme waves her hand.

"I wouldn't have it any other way." Alice takes up the cudgels then.

"Now, your dress. I thought - and do say no if you'd rather not - that I could make your dress," she says, smiling at me. "You're my sister as much as it matters, and I'd like to do this for you."

"Of course you can, if you're sure it wouldn't be a trouble for you."

"Bella, I would be pleased to make your dress."

"May I help?" Esme asks.

"Of course!" Alice cries. "I can see Bella in muslin - something plain but pretty, with a satin trim and lace for the sleeves."

"Yes! Absolutely yes."

"I have something to ask," I say, laughing. "Will you both be my bridesmaids?"

"Oh, well, dear, I'd think I'm a little old - Alice is much younger -"

"No, Esme," I say, firmly. "I would like it a very great deal for you to be my bridesmaid, to pair with Alice. And I will make those dresses."

"Then I'd be honoured. Will your brother give you away?"

"Yes, he shall. Well, I have not asked him yet, but I hope he will agree anyway."

"I'm sure he will. And your guests, of course, we must discuss guests."

"Everyone I have left in this world is in this house, with the exception of my cousin Rosalie and her son James. Even they are local. As long as this family and they are there, the guests must be left to Emmett."

"I have a question that may perhaps be a little insensitive or inappropriate. But I feel it should be asked."

"Um, alright," Esme says, frowning. I think I know what Alice's question might be.

"What ceremony shall it be? I mean - shall it be Jewish or Christian?"

"I think I shall have to discuss that with Emmett, and I cannot answer that now. That is a bridge we will cross after discussion with the Father and the Rabbi. But it's not something I can decide on now." I cast a slightly worried look at Esme. "Do you have a preference?"

"No. As you say, darling, that decision will rest with you and with Emmett. And whatever you decide, we will arrange."

When I go to bed that night, after Emmett has kissed my hand very properly and then kissed my lips in a fleeting stolen moment while my brother is out of sight, all I can think of is that I'm getting married, that I am engaged to be married to a wonderful man. I stretch out my hand, admire the ring in the darkness. I'm really getting married.

How I wish I could tell my mother.


End file.
